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“CAUGHT THE CHILD FROM UNDEl^THE VERY WHEELS 


OF THE ENGINE 


{See page 6j) 


V 


THE YOUNG SECTION - HAND 


/ 



— - 




THE YOUNG 
SECTION=HAND 

By BURTON E. STEVENSON 

Author of “The Holladay Case,” ‘ * Tommy 
Remington’s Battle,” etc. 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

L. J. BRIDGMAN 



Boston 9 L. C. PAGE 
_ COMPANY * Mdc cccv 



LIBRARY of iONGRMSS 

TWO OOPItMi ,1 OCa you 

AUG 9 1905 

Oopvrijfiu Liiu'y 
/ 1>> / 9 O d 
GLA&5 CK AAc. Not 

/ JJ 6~9 9 

COPY 8. * 




Copyright , 7905 
Ry L. C. Page & Company 

(incorporated) 

/$// rights reserved 


Published July, 1905 


COLONIAL PRESS 

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H . Simonds &* Co. 
Boston, U. S. A. 


TO 

s. e. m . p. 

AND THE OTHER “ BOYS ” OF YARD 
AND SHOP AND OFFICE 


IN MEMORY 

OF THAT FAR-OFF TIME 
WHEN I “COVERED” THE RAILROAD 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I. 

The Bottom Round . 

• 

• 


PAGE 

I 

II. 

A New Experience . 

• 

• 


17 

III. 

An Adventure and a Story 

• 

• 


33 

IV. 

Allan Meets an Enemy . 

• 

• 


5 i 

V. 

Allan Proves His Metal. 

• 

• 


65 

VI. 

Reddy to the Rescue 

• 



79 

VII. 

The Irish Brigade 

• 

• 


9 i 

VIII. 

Good News and Bad . 

• 

• 


104 

IX. 

Reddy’s Exploit . 

• 

• 


120 

X. 

A Summons in the Night . 


• 


128 

XI. 

Clearing the Track . 




142 

XII. 

Unsung Heroes . 




157 

XIII. 

A New Danger . 




169 

XIV. 

Allan Makes a Discovery 




187 

XV. 

A Shot from Behind . 




207 

XVI. 

A Call to Duty . 




228 

XVII. 

A Night of Danger . 

• 



238 

XVIII. 

The Signal in the Night. 

• 

• 


248 

XIX. 

Reddy Redivivus 

• 

• 

• 

257 

XX. 

The Road’s Gratitude 

• 

• 

• 

267 

























LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGB 

“ Caught the child from under the very wheels 

of the engine (See page 6j) . . Frontispiece 

“Near at hand it was even more terrifying 

THAN AT A DISTANCE” 44 

“ He struck suddenly and viciously at the 

boy’s face ” 54 

Snatched the little one into the air just 
as the engine bore down upon it” . . 1 13 

“Just in time to escape a large boulder” . 128 

“ He stepped to one side, and . . . brought down 

his club upon the other’s head” . . . 247 



THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


CHAPTER I. 

THE BOTTOM ROUND 

“ Excuse me, sir, but do you need a man? ” 

Jack Welsh, foreman of Section Twenty-one, on 
the Ohio division of the P. & O., turned sharply 
around at sound of the voice and inspected the 
speaker for a moment. 

“ A man, yes,” he said, at last. “ But not a boy. 
This ain’t boy’s work.” 

And he bent over again to sight along the rail 
and make sure that the track was quite level. 

“ Up a little ! ” he shouted to the gang who had 
their crowbars under the ties some distance ahead. 

They heaved at their bars painfully, growing red 
in the face under the strain. 


2 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


“ That’ll do! Now keep it there! ” 

Some of the men braced themselves and held on 
to their bars, while others hastened to tamp some 
gravel solidly under the ties to keep them in place. 
The foreman, at leisure for a moment, turned again 
to the boy, who had stood by with downcast face, 
plainly undecided what to do. Welsh had a kindly 
Irish heart, which not even the irksomeness of sec- 
tion work could sour, and he had noted the boy’s 
fresh face and honest eyes. It was not an especially 
handsome face, yet one worth looking twice at, 
if only for its frankness. 

“ What’s yer name, sonny ? ” he asked. 

“ Allan West.” 

“ An’ where’d y’ come from ? ” 

“ From Cincinnati.” 

The foreman looked the boy over again. His 
clothes were good, but the worn, dusty shoes told 
that the journey of nearly a hundred miles had 
been made on foot. He glanced again at the face 

— no, the boy was not a tramp; it was easy to 
see he was ambitious and had ideals ; he was no idler 

— he would work if he had the chance. 


THE BOTTOM ROUND 


3 


“ What made y’ come all that way ? ” asked 
Welsh, at last. 

“ I couldn’t find any work at Cincinnati,” said 
the boy, and it was evident that he was speaking 
the truth. “ There’s too many people there out 
of work now. So I came on to Loveland and Mid- 
land City and Greenfield, but it’s the same story 
everywhere. I got some little jobs here and there, 
but nothing permanent. I thought perhaps at 
Wadsworth — ” 

“ No,” interrupted the foreman. “ No, Wads- 
worth’s th’ same way — dead as a doornail. How 
old ’re you ? ” he asked, suddenly. 

“ Seventeen. And indeed I’m very strong,” 
added the boy, eagerly, as he caught a gleam of 
relenting in the other’s eye. “ I’m sure I could 
do the work.” 

He wanted work desperately ; he felt that he had 
to have it, and he straightened instinctively and 
drew a long breath of hope as he saw the foreman 
examining him more carefully. He had always been 
glad that he was muscular and well-built, but never 
quite so glad as at this moment. 


4 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


“ It’s mighty hard work,” added Jack, reflectively. 
“Mighty hard. Do y’ think y’ could stand it?” 

“ I’m sure I could, sir,” answered Allan, his 
face glowing. “ Just let me try.” 

“ An’ th’ pay's only a dollar an' a quarter a day.” 

The boy drew a quick breath. 

“ That’s more than I’ve ever made regularly, sir,” 
he said. “ I’ve always thought myself lucky if 
I could earn a dollar a day.” 

Jack smiled grimly. 

“ You’ll earn your dollar an’ a quarter all right 
at this work,” he said. “ An’ you’ll find it’s mighty 
little when it comes t’ feedin’ an’ clothin’ an’ lodgin’ 
yerself. But you’d like t’ try, would y’ ? ” 

“ Yes, indeed ! ” said Allan. 

There could be no doubting his eagerness, and 
as he looked at him, Jack smiled again. 

“ I don’t know what th’ road-master’ll say ; 
mebbe he won’t let me keep you — I know he won’t 
if he sees you can’t do th’ work.” He looked down 
the line toward the gang, who stood leaning on 
their tools, enjoying the unusual privilege of a mo- 
ment’s rest. “ But I’m a man short,” he added. 


THE BOTTOM ROUND 


5 


“ I had t’ fire one this mornin’. We’ll try you, 
anyway. Put your coat an’ vest on th’ hand-car 
over there, git a pick an’ shovel an’ go up there with 
th’ gang.” 

The boy flushed with pleasure and hurried away 
toward the hand-car, taking off his coat and vest as 
he went. He was back again in a moment, armed 
with the tools. 

“ Reddy, you show him the ropes ! ” shouted the 
foreman to one of the men. 

“ All roight, sir ! ” answered Reddy, easily dis- 
tinguishable by the colour of his hair. “ Come 
over here, youngster,” he added, as Allan joined the 
group. “ Now you watch me, an’ you’ll soon be as 
good a section-man as they is on th’ road.” 

The others laughed good-naturedly, then bent 
to work again, straightening the track. For this 
thing of steel and oak which bound the East to 
the West, and which, at first glance, would seem to 
have been built, like the Roman roads of old, to last 
for ever, was in constant need of attention. The 
great rails were of the toughest steel that forge 
could make; the ties were of the best and soundest 


6 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


oak; the gravel which served as ballast lay under 
them a foot deep and extended a foot on either 
side; the road-bed was as solid as the art of man 
could make it, pounded, tamped, and rolled, until it 
seemed strong as the eternal hills. 

Yet it did not endure. For every hour of the day 
there swept over it, pounding at it, the monstrous 
freight locomotives, weighing a hundred tons, mar- 
vels of strength and power, pulling long lines of 
heavy cars, laden with coal and iron and grain, 
hurrying to give the Old World of the abundance 
of the New. And every hour, too, there flashed over 
it, at a speed almost lightning-like, the through pas- 
senger trains — the engines slim, supple, panting, 
thoroughbred; the lumbering mail-cars and day 
coaches; the luxurious Pullmans far heavier than 
any freight-car. 

Day and night these thousands of tons hurled 
themselves along the rails, tearing at them at every 
curve, pounding them at every joint. Small wonder 
that they sometimes gave and spread, or broke 
short off, especially in zero weather, under the great 
pressure. Then, too, the thaws of spring loosened 


THE BOTTOM ROUND 


7 


the road-bed and softened it; freshets undermined 
it and sapped the foundations of bridge and culvert. 
A red-hot cinder from the firebox, dropped on a 
wooden trestle, might start a disastrous blaze. And 
the least defect meant, perhaps, the loss of a score 
of lives. 

So every day, over the whole length of the line, 
gangs of section-men went up and down, putting in 
a new tie here, replacing a defective rail there, 
tightening bolts, straightening the track, clearing 
the ditches along the road of water lest it seep 
under the road-bed and soften it ; doing a thousand 
and one things that only a section-foreman would 
think needful. And all this that passengers and 
freight alike might go in safety to their destinations ; 
that the road, at the year’s end, might declare a 
dividend. 

There was nothing spectacular about their work ; 
there was no romance connected with it. The pas- 
sengers who caught a glimpse of them, as the train 
flashed by, never gave them a second thought. 
Their clothes were always torn and soiled; their 
hands hard and rough ; the tugging at the bars had 


8 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


pulled their shoulders over into an ungraceful 
stoop; almost always they had the haggard, patient 
look of men who labour beyond their strength. 
But they were cogs in the great machine, just as 
important, in their way, as the big fly-wheel of a 
superintendent in the general offices; more import- 
ant, sometimes, for the superintendent took frequent 
vacations, but the section work could not be 
neglected for a single day. 

Allan West soon discovered what soul-racking 
work it was. To raise the rigid track a fraction of 
an inch required that muscles be strained to bursting. 
To replace a tie was a task that tried every nerve and 
sinew. The sun beat down upon them mercilessly, 
bringing out the sweat in streams. But the boy 
kept at it bravely, determined to do his part and hold 
the place if he could. He was under a good teacher, 
for Reddy, otherwise Timothy Magraw, was a 
thorough-going section-hand. He knew his work 
inside and out, and it was only a characteristic Irish 
carelessness, a certain unreliability, that kept him 
in the ranks, where, indeed, he was quite content to 
stay. 


THE BOTTOM ROUND 


9 


“ Oi d’ want nothin’ else,” he would say. “ Oi 
does me wor-rk, an’ draws me pay, an’ goes home 
an’ goes t’ sleep, with niver a thing t’ worrit me; 
while Welsh there ’s a-tossin’ aroun’ thinkin’ o’ 
what’s before him. Reespons’bility — that’s th’ 
thing Oi can’t stand.” 

On the wages he drew as section-hand — and with 
the assistance, in summer, of a little “ truck-patch ” 
back of his house — he managed to keep himself 
and his wife and numerous children clothed; they 
had enough to eat and a place to sleep, and they 
were all as happy as possible. So that, in this case, 
Reddy’s philosophy seemed not a half-bad one. Cer- 
tainly this freedom from responsibility left him in 
perpetual good-humour that lightened the work for 
the whole gang and made the hours pass more 
swiftly. Under his direction, the boy soon learned 
just what was expected of him, and even drew a 
word of commendation from his teacher. 

“ But don’t try t’ do th’ wor-rk all by yerself, me 
b’y,” he cautioned, noting Allan’s eagerness. 
“ We’re all willin’ t’ help a little. If y’ try t’ lift 


10 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


that track by yerself, ye’ll wrinch y’r back, an’ll be 
laid up fer a week.” 

Allan laughed and coloured a little at this good- 
natured raillery. 

“ I’ll try not to do more than my share,” he 
said. 

“ That’s roight ! ” approved Reddy, with a nod. 
“ Whin each man does his share, why, th’ wor-rk 
goes along stiddy an’ aisy. It’s whin we gits a 
shirker on tlT gang like that there Dan Nolan — ” 

A chorus of low growls from the other men inter- 
rupted him. Nolan, evidently, was not a popular 
person. 

“ Who was he? ” asked Allan, at the next breath- 
ing-spell. 

“ He’s th’ lazy hound that Jack fired from th’ 
gang this mornin’,” answered Reddy, his blue eyes 
blazing with unaccustomed wrath. “ He’s a reg’lar 
bad ’un, he is. We used t’ think he was workin’ like 
anything, he’d git so red in th’ face, but come t’ find 
out he had a trick o’ holdin’ his breath t’ make his- 
self look that way. He was allers shirkin’, an’ when 
he had it in fer a feller, no trick was too mean or 


THE BOTTOM ROUND 


11 


dir-rty fer him t’ try. Y’ remimber, boys, whin he 
dropped that rail on poor Tom Collins’s foot?” 

The gang murmured an angry assent, and bent 
to their work again. Rod by rod they worked their 
way down the track, lifting, straining, tamping 
down the gravel. Occasionally a train thundered 
past, and they stood aside, leaning on their tools, glad 
of the moment’s rest. At last, away in the distance, 
Allan caught the faint sound of blowing whistles 
and ringing bells. The foreman took out his watch, 
looked at it, and closed it with a snap. 

“ Come on, boys,” he said. “ It’s dinner-time ! ” 

They went back together to the hand-car at the 
side of the road, which was their base of supplies, 
and slowly got out their dinner-pails. Allan was 
sent with a bucket to a farmhouse a quarter of a 
mile away to get some fresh water, and, when he re- 
turned, he found the men already busy with their 
food. They drank the cool water eagerly, for the 
hot sun had given them a burning thirst. 

“ Set down here,” said the foreman, “ an’ dip 
in with me. I’ve got enough fer three men.” 

And Allan sat down right willingly, for his 


12 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


stomach was protesting loudly against its continued 
state of emptiness. Never did cheese, fried ham, 
boiled eggs, bread, butter, and apple pie taste better. 
The compartment in the top of the dinner-pail was 
filled with coffee, but a share of this the boy declined, 
for he had never acquired a taste for that beverage. 
At last he settled back with a long sigh of content. 

“ That went t’ th’ right place, didn’t it ? ” asked 
Jack, with twinkling eyes. 

“ That it did ! ” assented Allan, heartily. “ I 
don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t taken 
pity on me,” he added. “ I was simply starving.” 

“ You had your breakfast this mornin’, didn’t 
y’ ? ” demanded Jack, sharply. 

Allan coloured a little under his fierce gaze. 

“ No, sir, I didn’t,” he said, rather hoarsely. “ I 
couldn’t find any work to do, and I — I couldn’t 
beg!” 

Jack looked at him without speaking, but his eyes 
were suspiciously bright. 

“ So you see, I just had to have this job,” Allan 
went on. “ And now that I’ve got it, I’m going to 
do my best to keep it ! ” 


THE BOTTOM ROUND 


13 


Jack turned away for a moment, before he could 
trust himself to speak. 

“ I like your grit/’ he said, at last. “ It’s th’ right 
kind. An’ you won’t have any trouble keepin’ your 
job. But, man alive, why didn’t y’ tell me y’ was 
hungry ? Jest a hint would ’a’ been enough ! Why, 
th’ wife’ll never fergive me when she hears about 
it!” 

“ Oh,” protested Allan, “ I couldn’t — ” 

He stopped without finishing the sentence. 

“ Well, I’ll fergive y’ this time,” said Jack. “ Are 
y’ sure y’ve ate all y’ kin hold ? ” 

“ Every mite,” Allan assured him, his heart warm- 
ing toward the friendly, weather-beaten face that 
looked at him so kindly. “ I couldn’t eat another 
morsel ! ” 

“ All right, then ; we’ll see that it don’t occur 
ag’in,” said Jack, putting the cover on his pail, and 
then stretching out in an easier position. “ Now, 
d’ y’ want a stiddy job here? ” he asked. 

“ If I can get it.” 

“ I guess y’ kin git it, all right. But how about 
your home ? ” 


14 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


“ I haven’t any home,” and the boy gazed out 
across the fields, his lips quivering a little despite 
his efforts to keep them still. 

The foreman looked at him for a moment. There 
was something in the face that moved him, and 
he held out his hand impulsively. 

“ Here, shake ! ” he said. “ I’m your friend.” 

The boy put his hand in the great, rough palm 
extended to him, but he did not speak — his throat 
was too full for that. 

“ Now, if you’re goin’ t’ stay,” went on the other, 
“ you’ve got t’ have some place t’ board. I’ll board 
an’ room y’ fer three dollars a week. It won’t be 
like Delmonicer’s, but y’ won’t starve — y’ll git 
yer three square meals a day. That’ll leave y’ four- 
fifty a week fer clothes an’ things. How’ll that 
suit y’?” 

The boy looked at him gratefully. 

“ You are very kind,” he said, huskily. “ I’m 
sure it’s worth more than three dollars a week.” 

“ No, it ain’t — not a cent more. Well, that’s 
settled. Some day, maybe, you’ll feel like tellin’ me 


THE BOTTOM ROUND 


15 


about yerself. I’d like to hear it. But not now — 
wait till y’ git used t’ me.” 

A freight-train, flying two dirty white flags, to 
show that it was running extra and not on a definite 
schedule, rumbled by, and the train-crew waved their 
caps at the section-men, who responded in kind. 
The engineer leaned far out the cab window and 
shouted something, but his voice was lost in the roar 
of the train. 

“ That’s Bill Morrison,” observed Jack, when the 
train was past. “ There ain’t a finer engineer on th’ 
road. Two year ago he run into a washout down 
here at Oak Furnace. He seen it in time t’ jump, 
but he told his fireman t’ jump instead, and he stuck 
to her an’ tried to stop her. They found him in th’ 
ditch under th’ engine, with his leg mashed an’ 
his arm broke an’ his head cut open. He opened his 
eyes fer a minute as they was draggin’ him out, an’ 
what d’ y’ think he says ? ” 

Jack paused a moment, while Allan listened 

\ 

breathlessly, with fast-beating heart. 

“ He says, ‘ Flag Number Three ! ’ says he, an’ 
then dropped off senseless ag’in. They’d forgot all 


16 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


about Number Three, th’ fastest passenger-train on 
th’ road, an’ she’d have run into them as sure as 
shootin’, if it hadn’t been fer Bill. Well, sir, they 
hurried out a flagman an’ stopped her jest in time, 
an’ you ort t’ seen them passengers when they heard 
about Bill ! They all went up t’ him where he was 
layin’ pale-like an’ bleedin’ on th’ ground, an’ they 
was mighty few of th’ men but what was blowin’ 
their noses; an’ as fer the women, they jest natu- 
rally slopped over! Well, they thought Bill was 
goin’ t’ die, but he pulled through. Yes, he’s still 
runnin’ freight — he’s got t’ wait his turn fer pro- 
motion; that’s th’ rule o’ th’ road. But he’s got 
th’ finest gold watch y’ ever seen ; them passengers 
sent it t’ him; an’ right in th’ middle of th’ case 
it says, 4 Flag Number Three.’ ” 

Jack stopped and looked out over the landscape, 
more affected by his own story than he cared to 
show. 

As for Allan, he gazed after the fast disappearing 
train as though it were an emperor’s triumphal car. 


CHAPTER II. 

A NEW EXPERIENCE 

“ When I was a kid,” continued Welsh, reminis- 
cently, after a moment, “ I was foolish, like all 
other kids. I thought they wasn’t nothin’ in th’ 
world so much fun as railroadin’. I made up my 
mind t’ be a brakeman, fer I thought all a brakeman 
had t’ do was t’ set out on top of a car, with his legs 
a-hangin’ over, an’ see th’ country, an’ wave his hat 
at th’ girls, an’ chase th’ boys off th’ platform, an’ 
order th’ engineer around by shakin’ his hand at him. 
Gee whiz ! ” and he laughed and slapped his leg. “ It 
tickles me even yet t’ think what an ijit I was! ” 

“ Did you try braking? ” asked Allan. 

“ Yes — I tried it,” and Welsh’s eyes twinkled ; 
“ but I soon got enough. Them wasn’t th’ days of 
air-brakes, an’ I tell you they was mighty little fun 
in runnin’ along th’ top of a train in th’ dead o’ 


17 


18 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


winter when th’ cars was covered with ice an’ th’ 
wind blowin’ fifty mile an hour. They wasn’t no 
automatic couplers, neither ; a man had t’ go right in 
between th’ cars t’ drop in th’ pin, an’ th’ engineer 
never seemed t’ care how hard he backed down on a 
feller. After about six months of it, I come t’ th’ 
conclusion that section-work was nearer my size. It 
ain’t so excitin’, an’ a man don’t make quite so much 
money; but he’s sure o’ gettin’ home t’ his wife 
when th’ day’s work’s over, an’ of havin’ all his legs 
an’ arms with him. That counts fer a whole lot, I 
tell yer!” 

He had got out a little black pipe as he talked, and 
filled it with tobacco from a paper sack. Then he 
applied a lighted match to the bowl and sent a long 
whiff of purple smoke circling upwards. 

“ There ! ” he said, leaning back with a sigh of 
ineffable content. “That’s better — that’s jest th’ 
dessert a man wants. You don’t smoke, I guess? ” 

“ No,” and Allan shook his head. 

“ Well, I reckon you’re as well off — better off, 
maybe ; but I begun smokin’ when I was knee high 
to a duck.” 


A NEW EXPERIENCE 


19 


“ You were telling me about that engineer,” 
prompted Allan, hoping for another story. “ Are 
there any more like him ? ” 

“Plenty more!” answered Jack, vigorously. 
“ Why, nine engineers out o’ ten would ’a’ done 
jest what he done. It comes nat’ral, after a feller’s 
worked on th’ road awhile. Th’ road comes t’ be 
more t’ him than wife ’r childer — it gits t’ be a 
kind o’ big idol thet he bows down an’ worships; 
an’ his engine’s a little idol thet he thinks more of 
than he does of his home. When he ain’t workin’, 
instead of stayin’ at home an’ weedin’ his garden, 
or playin’ with his childer, he’ll come down t’ th’ 
roundhouse an’ pet his engine, an’ polish her up, an’ 
walk around her an’ look at her, an’ try her valves 
an’ watch th’ stokers t’ see thet they clean her out 
proper. An’ when she wears out ’r breaks down, 
why, you’d think he’d lost his best friend. There 
was old Cliff Gudgeon. He had a swell passenger 
run on th’ east end; but when they got t’ puttin’ 
four ’r five sleepers on his train, his old engine was 
too light t’ git over th’ road on time, so they give 
him a new one — a great big one — a beauty. An’ 


20 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


what did Cliff do? Well, sir, he said he was too old 
t’ learn th’ tricks of another engine, an’ he’d stick to 
his old one, an’ he’s runnin’ a little accommodation 
train up here on th’ Hillsboro branch at seventy-five 
a month, when he might ’a’ been makin’ twict that 
a-handlin’ th’ Royal Blue. Then, there’s Reddy 
Magraw — now, t’ look at Reddy, y’ wouldn’t think 
he was anything but a chuckle-headed Irishman. 
Yet, six year ago — ” 

Reddy had caught the sound of his name, and 
looked up suddenly. 

“ Hey, Jack, cut it out ! ” he called. 

Welsh laughed good-naturedly. 

“ All right ! ” he said. “ He’s th’ most modest 
man in th’ world, is Reddy. But they ain’t all that 
way. There’s Dan Nolan,” and Jack’s face dark- 
ened. “ I had him on th’ gang up till this momin’, 
but I couldn’t stan’ him no longer, so I jest fired 
him. That’s th’ reason there was a place fer you, 
m’ boy.” 

“ Yes,” said Allan, " Reddy was telling me about 
him. What was it he did ? ” 

“ He didn’t do anything,” laughed Jack. “ That 


A NEW EXPERIENCE 


21 


was th’ trouble. He was jest naturally lazy — 
sneakin’ lazy an’ mean. There’s jest two things a 
railroad asks of its men — you might as well learn 
it now as any time — they must be on hand when 
they’re needed, an’ they must be willin’ t’ work. As 
long as y’re stiddy an’ willin’ t’ work, y’ won’t have 
no trouble holdin’ a job on a railroad.” 

Allan looked out across the fields and determined 
that in these two respects, at least, he would not be 
found wanting. He glanced at the other group, gos- 
siping together in the shade of a tree. They were 
not attractive-looking, certainly, but he was begin- 
ning to learn already that a man may be brave and 
honest, whatever his appearance. They were laugh- 
ing at one of Reddy’s jokes, and Allan looked at him 
with a new respect, wondering what it was he had 
done. The foreman watched the boy’s face with a 
little smile, reading his thoughts. 

“ He ain’t much t’ look at, is he? ” he said. “ But 
you’ll soon learn — if you ain’t learnt already — 
that you can’t judge a man’s inside by his outside. 
There’s no place you’ll learn it quicker than on a 
railroad. , Railroad men, barrin’ th’ passenger train- 


22 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


crews, who have t’ keep themselves spruced up t’ 
hold their jobs, ain’t much t’ look at, as a rule, but 
down at th’ bottom of most of them there allers 
seems t’ be a man — a real man — a man who don’t 
lose his head when he sees death a-starin’ him in th’ 
face, but jest grits his teeth an’ sticks to his post an’ 
does his duty. Railroad men ain’t little tin gods nor 
plaster saints — fur from it ! — but they’re worth 
a mighty sight more than either. There was Jim 
Blakeson, th’ skinniest, lankest, most woe-begone- 
lookin’ feller I ever see outside of a circus. He was 
brakin’ front-end one night on third ninety-eight, 
an’ — ” 

From afar off came the faint blowing of whistles, 
telling that, in the town of Wadsworth, the wheels 
in the factories had started up again, that men and 
women were bending again to their tasks, after the 
brief noon hour. Welsh stopped abruptly, much to 
Allan’s disappointment, knocked out his pipe against 
his boot-heel, and rose quickly to his feet. If there 
was one article in Welsh’s code of honour which 
stood before all the rest, it was this : That the rail- 
road which employed him should have the full use 


A NEW EXPERIENCE 


23 


of the ten hours a day for which it paid. To waste 
any part of that time was to steal the railroad’s 
money. It is a good principle for any man — or for 
any boy — to cling to. 

“ One o’clock ! ” he cried. “ Come on, boys ! 
We’ve got a good stretch o’ track to finish up down 
there.” 

The dinner-pails were replaced on the hand-car 
and it was run down the road about half a mile and 
then derailed again. The straining work began; 
tugging at the bars, tamping gravel under the ties, 
driving new spikes, replacing a fish-plate here and 
there. And the new hand learned many things. 

He learned that with the advent of the great, 
modern, ten-wheeled freight locomotives, all the rails 
on the line had been replaced with heavier ones 
weighing eighty-five pounds to the yard, — 850 
pounds to their thirty feet of length, — the old ones 
being too light to carry such enormous weights with 
safety. They were called T-rails, because, in cross- 
section, they somewhat resembled that letter. The 
top of the rail is the “ head ” ; the thinner stem, the 
“ web ” ; and the wide, flat bottom, the “ base.” Be- 


24 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


sides being spiked down to the ties, which are first 
firmly bedded in gravel or crushed stone, the rails 
are bolted together at the ends with iron bars called 
“ fish-plates.” These are fitted to the web, one on 
each side of the junction of two rails, and bolts are 
then passed through them and nuts screwed on 
tightly. 

This work of joining the rails is done with such 
nicety, and the road-bed built so solidly, that there 
is no longer such a great rattle and bang as the trains 
pass over them — a rattle and bang formerly as 
destructive to the track as to the nerves of the pas- 
senger. It is the duty of the section-foreman to see 
that the six or eight miles of track which is under his 
supervision is kept in the best possible shape, and to 
inspect it from end to end twice daily, to guard 
against any possibility of accident. 

As the hours passed, Allan’s muscles began to 
ache sadly, but there were few chances to rest. At 
last the foreman perceived that he was overworking 
himself, and sent him and Reddy back to bring up 
the hand-car and prepare for the homeward trip. 
They walked back to where it stood, rolled it out 


A NEW EXPERIENCE 


25 


upon the track, and pumped it down to the spot 
where the others were working, Reddy giving Allan 
his first lesson in how to work the levers, for there 
is a right and wrong way of managing a hand-car, 
just as there is a right and wrong way of doing 
everything else. 

“ That’s about all we kin do to-day,” and Jack 
took out his watch and looked at it reflectively, as 
the car came rolling up. “ I guess we kin git in 
before Number Six comes along. What y’ think? ” 
and he looked at Reddy. 

" How much time we got ? ” asked the latter, for 
only the foreman of the gang could afford to carry 
a watch. 

“ Twelve minutes.” 

“ That’s aisy ! We kin make it in eight without 
half-tryin’ ! ” 

“ All right ! ” and Jack thrust the watch back into 
his pocket. “ Pile on, boys ! ” 

And pile on they did, bringing their tools with 
them. They seized the levers, and in a moment the 
car was spinning down the track. There was some- 
thing fascinating and invigorating in the motion. 


t 

26 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 

As they pumped up and down, Allan could see the 
fields, fences, and telegraph-poles rushing past them. 
It seemed to him that they were going faster even 
than the “ flier.” The wind whistled against him 
and the car jolted back and forth in an alarming 
way. 

“Hold tight!” yelled Reddy, and they flashed 
around a curve, across a high trestle, through a deep 
cut, and down a long grade on the other side. Away 
ahead he could see the chimneys of the town nes- 
tling among the trees. They were down the grade 
in a moment, and whirling along an embankment 
that bordered a wide and placid river, when the 
car gave a sudden, violent jolt, ran for fifty feet on 
three wheels, and then settled down on the track 
again. 

“ Stop her ! ” yelled the foreman. “ Stop her ! ” 

They strained at the levers, but the car seemed 
alive and sprang away from them. Twice she almost 
shook them off, then sullenly succumbed, and finally 
stopped. 

“ Somethin’s th’ matter back there! ” panted Jack. 


“ Give her a shove, Reddy ! ” 


A NEW EXPERIENCE 


27 


Reddy jumped off and started her back up the 
track. In a moment the levers caught, and they 
were soon at the place where the jolt had occurred. 

The foreman sprang off and for an instant bent 
over the track. Then he straightened up with stern 
face. 

“ Quick! ” he cried. “ Jerk that car off th’ track 
and bring two fish-plates an’ some spikes. West, 
take that flag, run up th’ track as far as y’ kin, an’ 
flag Number Six. Mind, don’t stop runnin’ till y’ 
see her. She’ll have her hands full stoppin’ on that 
grade.” 

With beating heart Allan seized the flag and ran 
up the track as fast as his legs would carry him. 
The thought that the lives of perhaps a hundred 
human beings depended upon him set his hands to 
trembling and his heart to beating wildly. On and 
on he went, until his breath came in gasps and his 
head sang. It seemed that he must have covered a 
mile at least, yet it was only a few hundred feet. 
And then, away ahead, he saw the train flash into 
sight around the curve and come hurtling down the 
grade toward him. 


28 THE YOUNG SECTION - HAND 


He shook loose the flag and waved it wildly over 
his head, still running forward. He even shouted, 
not realizing how puny his voice was. The engine 
grew larger and larger with amazing swiftness. He 
could hear the roar of the wheels ; a shaft of steam 
leaped into the air, and, an instant later, the wind 
brought him the sound of a shrill whistle. He saw 
the engineer leaning from his window, and, with 
a great sob of relief, knew that he had been seen. 
He had just presence of mind to spring from the 
track, and the train passed him, the wheels grinding 
and shrieking under the pressure of the air-brakes, 
the drivers of the engine whirling madly backwards. 
He caught a glimpse of startled passengers peering 
from the windows, and then the train was past. 
But it was going slower and slower, and stopped 
at last with a jerk. 

When he reached the place, he found Jack ex- 
plaining to the conductor about the broken fish- 
plates and the loose rail. What had caused it could 
not be told with certainty — the expansion from 
the heat, perhaps, or the vibration from a heavy 
freight that had passed half an hour before, or a 


A NEW EXPERIENCE 


29 


defect in the plates, which inspection had not re- 
vealed. Allan sat weakly down upon the over- 
turned hand-car. No one paid any heed to him, and 
he was astonished that they treated the occurrence 
so lightly. Jack and the engineer were joking 
together. Only the conductor seemed worried, and 
that was because the delay would throw his train 
a few minutes late. 

Half a dozen of the passengers, who had been 
almost hurled from their seats by the suddenness of 
the stop, came hurrying up. All along the line of 
coaches windows had been raised, and white, anxious 
faces were peering out. Inside the coaches, brake- 
men and porters were busy picking up the packages 
that had been thrown from the racks, and reassuring 
the frightened people. 

“What’s the matter?” gasped one of the pas- 
sengers, a tall, thin, nervous-looking man, as soon as 
he reached the conductor’s side. “ Nothing serious, 
I hope? There’s no danger, is there? My wife and 
children are back there — ” 

The conductor smiled at him indulgently. 

“ There’s no danger at all, my dear sir,” he in- 


30 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


terrupted. “ The section-gang here flagged us until 
they could bolt this rail down. That is all.” 

“ But,” protested the man, looking around for 
sympathy, and obviously anxious not to appear un- 
duly alarmed, “ do you usually throw things about 
that way when you stop? ” 

“ No,” said the conductor, smiling again ; “ but 
you see we were on a heavy down-grade, and going 
pretty fast. I’d advise you gentlemen to get back 
into the train at once,” he added, glancing at his 
watch again. “ We’ll be starting in a minute or 
two.” 

The little group of passengers walked slowly back 
and disappeared into the train. Allan, looking after 
them, caught his first glimpse of one side of railroad 
policy — a policy which minimizes every danger, 
which does its utmost to keep every peril from the 
knowledge of its patrons — a wise policy, since 
nervousness will never add to safety. Away up the 
track he saw the brakeman, who had been sent back 
as soon as the train stopped, to prevent the possi- 
bility of a rear-end collision, and he understood 


A NEW EXPERIENCE 


31 


dimly something of the wonderful system which 
guards the safety of the trains. 

Then, suddenly, he realized that he was not work- 
ing, that his place was with that little group labour- 
ing to repair the track, and he sprang to his feet, 
but at that instant Jack stood back with a sigh of 
relief and turned to the conductor. 

“ All right,” he said. 

The conductor raised his hand, a sharp whistle 
recalled the brakeman, who came down the track 
on a run; the engineer opened his throttle; there 
was a long hiss of escaping steam, and the train 
started slowly. As it passed him, Allan could see 
the passengers settling back contentedly in their 
seats, the episode already forgotten. In a momenl 
the train was gone, growing rapidly smaller away 
down the track ahead of them. A few extra spikes 
were driven in to further strengthen the place, and 
the hand-car was run out on the track again. 

“ Y’ made pretty good time,” said Jack to the 
boy; and then, as he saw his white face, he added, 
“ Kind o’ winded y’, didn’t it ? ” 


32 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


Allan nodded, and climbed silently to his place 
on the car. 

“ Shook y’r nerve a little, too, I reckon,” added 
Jack, as the car started slowly. “ But y’ mustn’t 
mind a little thing like that, m’ boy. It’s all in th’ 
day’s work.” 

All in the day’s work! The flagging of a train 
was an ordinary incident in the lives of these men. 
There had, perhaps, been no great danger, yet the 
boy caught his breath as he recalled that fearful 
moment when the train rushed down upon him. 
All in the day’s work — for which the road paid a 
dollar and a quarter ! 


<* 


CHAPTER III. 

AN ADVENTURE AND A STORY 

Jack Welsh, section-foreman, lived in a little 
frame house perched high on an embankment just 
back of the railroad yards. The bank had been left 
there when the yards had been levelled down, and the 
railroad company, always anxious to promote habits 
of sobriety and industry in its men, and knowing 
that no influence makes for such habits as does the 
possession of a home, had erected a row of cottages 
along the top of the embankment, and offered them 
on easy terms to its employes. They weren’t palatial 
— they weren’t even particularly attractive — but 
they were homes. 

In front, the bank dropped steeply down to the 
level of the yards, but behind they sloped more 
gently, so that each of the cottages had a yard ample 
for a vegetable garden. To attend to this was the 


33 


34 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 

work of the wife and the children — a work which 
always yielded a bountiful reward. 

There were six cottages in the row, but one was 
distinguished from the others in summer by a mass 
of vines which clambered over it, and a garden of 
sweet-scented flowers which occupied the little front 
yard. This was Welsh’s, and he never mounted 
toward it without a feeling of pride and a quick 
rush of affection for the little woman who found 
time, amid all her household duties, to add her mite 
to the world’s beauty. As he glanced at the other 
yards, with their litter of trash and broken play- 
things, he realized, more keenly perhaps than most 
of us do, what a splendid thing it is to render our 
little corner of the world more beautiful, instead of 
making it uglier, as human beings have a way of 
doing. 

It was toward this little vine-embowered cottage 
that Jack and Allan turned their steps, as soon as 
the hand-car and tools had been deposited safely 
in the little section shanty. As they neared the 
house, a midget in blue calico came running down 
the path toward them. 


ADVENTURE AND A STORY 35 


“ It’s Mamie/’ said Welsh, his face alight with 
tenderness; and, as the child swept down upon 
him, he seized her, kissed her, and swung her to his 
shoulder, where she sat screaming in triumph. 

They mounted the path so, and, at the door, 
Mrs. Welsh, a little, plump, black-eyed woman, met 
them. 

“ I’ve brought you a boarder, Mary,” said Welsh, 
setting Mamie down upon her sturdy little legs. 
“ Allan West’s his name. I took him on th’ gang 
to-day, an’ told him he might come here till he 
found some place he liked better.” 

“That’s right!” and Mrs. Welsh held out her 
hand in hearty welcome, pleased with the boy’s frank 
face. “ We’ll try t’ make you comf’terble,” she 
added. “ You’re a little late, Jack.” 

“ Yes, we had t’ stop t’ fix a break,” he answered ; 
and he told her in a few words the story of the 
broken fish-plates. “ It don’t happen often,” he 
added, “ but y’ never know when t’ expect it.” 

" No, y’ never do,” agreed Mary, her face cloud- 
ing for an instant, then clearing with true Irish 
optimism. “ You’ll find th’ wash-basin out there on 


36 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 

th’ back porch, m’ boy,” she added to Allan, and 
he hastened away to cleanse himself, so far as soap 
and water could do it, of the marks of the day’s toil. 

Mrs. Welsh turned again to her husband as soon 
as the boy was out of ear-shot. 

“ Where ’d you pick him up, Jack?” she asked. 
“ He ain’t no common tramp.” 

“ Not a bit of it,” agreed her husband. “ He 
looks like a nice boy. He jest come along an’ 
wanted a job. He said he’d come from Cincinnati, 
an’ hadn’t any home ; but he didn’t seem t’ want t’ 
talk about hisself.” 

“No home! ” repeated Mary, her heart warming 
with instant sympathy. “Poor boy! We’ll have 
t’ look out fer him, Jack.” 

“ I knew you’d say that, darlint ! ” cried her hus- 
band, and gave her a hearty hug. 

“ Go ’long with you ! ” cried Mary, trying in vain 
to speak sternly. “ I smell th’ meat a-burnin’ ! ” and 
she disappeared into the kitchen, while Jack joined 
Allan on the back porch. 

How good the cool, clean water felt, splashed 
over hands and face ; what a luxury it was to scrub 


ADVENTURE AND A STORY 37 


with the thick lather of the soap, and then rinse off 
in a brimming basin of clear water;' how delicious 
it was to be clean again! Jack dipped his whole 
head deep into the basin, and then, after a vigorous 
rubbing with the towel, took his station before a 
little glass and brushed his black hair until it pre- 
sented a surface almost as polished as the mirror’s 
own. 

Then Mamie came with the summons to supper, 
and they hurried in to it, for ten hours’ work on 
section will make even a confirmed dyspeptic hungry 
— yes, and give him power properly to digest his 
food. 

How pretty the table looked, with its white cloth 
and shining dishes! For Mary was a true Irish 
housewife, with a passion for cleanliness and a pride 
in her home. It was growing dark, and a lamp had 
been lighted and placed in the middle of the board, 
making it look bright and cosy. 

“ You set over there, m’ boy,” said Mary, herself 
taking the housewife’s inevitable place behind the 
coffee-pot, with her husband opposite. “ Now, 
Mamie, you behave yourself,” she added, for Mamie 


38 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


was peeping around the lamp at Allan with roguish 
eyes. “ We’re all hungry, Jack, so don’t keep us 
waitin’.” 

And Jack didn’t. 

How good the food smelt, and how good it 
tasted ! Allan relished it more than he would have 
done any dinner of “ Delmonicer’s,” for Mary was 
one of the best of cooks, and only the jaded palate 
relishes the sauces and fripperies of French chefs. 

“ A girl as can’t cook ain’t fit t’ marry,” Mary 
often said; a maxim which she had inherited from 
her mother, and would doubtless hand down to 
Mamie. “ There’s nothin’ that’ll break up a home 
quicker ’n a bad cook, an’ nothin’ that’ll make a 
man happier ’n a good one.” 

Certainly, if cooking were a test, this supper was 
proof enough of her fitness for the state of matri- 
mony. There was a great platter of ham and eggs, 
fluffy biscuits, and the sweetest of yellow butter. 
And, since he did not drink coffee, Allan was given 
a big glass of fragrant milk to match Mamie’s. 
They were tasting one of the best sweets of toil — to 
sit down with appetite to a table well-laden. 


ADVENTURE AND A STORY 39 


After supper, they gathered on the front porch, 
and sat looking down over the busy, noisy yards. 
The switch-lamps gleamed in long rows, red and 
green and white, telling which tracks were open 
and which closed. The yard-engines ran fussily up 
and down, shifting the freight-cars back and forth, 
and arranging them in trains to be sent east or west. 
Over by the roundhouse, engines were being run in 
on the big turntable and from there into the stalls, 
where they would be furbished up and overhauled 
for the next trip. Others were being brought out, 
tanks filled with water, and tenders heaped high 
with coal, ready for the run to Parkersburg or Cin- 
cinnati. They seemed almost human in their im- 
patience to be off — breathing deeply in loud pants, 
the steam now and then throwing up the safety-valve 
and “ popping off ” with a great noise. 

The clamour, the hurry, the rush of work, never 
ceasing from dawn to dawn, gave the boy a dim 
understanding of the importance of this great 
corporation which he had just begun to serve. He 
was only a very little cog in the vast machine, 
to be sure, but the smoothness of its running de- 


40 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 

pended upon the little cogs no less than on the big 
ones. 

A man's figure, indistinct in the twilight, stopped 
at the gate below and whistled. 

“ There's Reddy Magraw,'' said Jack, with a 
laugh. “ I’d forgot — it was so hot t’-day, we 
thought we'd go over t’ th’ river an' take a dip 
t’-night. Do you know how t’ swim, Allan ? " 

“ Just a little,” answered Allan ; “ all I know 
about it was picked up in the swimming-pool at the 
gymnasium at Cincinnati.” 

“ Well, it's time y’ learned more,” said Jack. 
“ Every boy ought t' know how t’ swim — mebbe 
some day not only his own life but the lives o' 
some o’ his women-folks'll depend on him. Come 
along, an’ we’ll give y’ a lesson.” 

“ I’ll be glad to! ” Allan cried, and ran indoors 
for his hat. 

Reddy whistled again. 

“ We’re cornin’,” called Jack. “ We won’t be 
gone long,” he added to his wife, as they started 
down the path. 


ADVENTURE AND A STORY 41 


“ All right, dear,” she answered. “ An’ take 
good care o’ th’ boy.” 

Reddy greeted Allan warmly, and thoroughly 
agreed with Jack that it was every boy’s duty to 
learn how to swim. Together they started off 
briskly toward the river — across the yards, picking 
their way carefully over the maze of tracks, then 
along the railroad embankment which skirted the 
stream, and finally through a corn-field to the water’s 
edge. The river looked very wide and still in the 
semidarkness, and Allan shivered a little as he looked 
at it; but the feeling passed in a moment. Reddy 
had his clothes off first, and dived in with a splash ; 
Jack waded in to show Allan the depth. The boy 
followed, with sudden exhilaration, as he felt the 
cool water rise about him. 

“ This is different from a swimmin’-pool, ain’t 
it? ” said Jack. 

*' Indeed it is ! ” agreed Allan ; “ and a thousand 
times nicer ! ”• 

“ Now,” added Jack, “ let me give you a lesson,” 
and he proceeded to instruct Allan in the intricacies 
of the broad and powerful breast stroke. 


42 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


The boy was an apt pupil, and at the end of twenty 
minutes had mastered it sufficiently to be able to 
make fair progress through the water. He would 
have kept on practising, but Jack stopped him. 

“ We’ve been in long enough,” he said ; “ you 
mustn’t overdo it. Come along, Reddy,” he called 
to that worthy, who was disporting himself out 
in the middle of the current. 

As they turned toward the shore the full moon 
peeped suddenly over a little hill on the eastern 
horizon, and cast a broad stream of silver light 
across the water, touching every ripple and little 
wave with magic beauty. 

“ Oh, look ! ” cried Allan. “ Look ! ” 

They stood and watched the moon until it sailed 
proudly above the hill, and then waded to the bank, 
rubbed themselves down briskly, and resumed their 
clothes, cleansed and purified in spirit as well as 
body. They made their way back through the 
corn-field, but just as they reached the embankment, 
Reddy stopped them with a quick, stifled cry. 

“ Whist ! ” he said, hoarsely. “ Look there ! 
What’s that ? ” 


ADVENTURE AND A STORY 43 

Straining his eyes through the darkness, Allan 
saw, far down the track ahead of them, a dim, white 
figure. It seemed to be going through some sort of 
pantomime, waving its arms wildly above its head. 

“ It’s a ghost ! ” whispered Reddy, breathing 
heavily. “ It’s Tim Dorsey’s ghost! D’ y’ raymim- 
ber, Jack, it was jist there thet th’ poor feller was 
killed last month! That’s his ghost, sure as I’m 
standin’ here ! ” 

“Oh, nonsense!” retorted Jack, with a little 
laugh, but his heart was beating faster than usual, 
as he peered through the darkness at the strange 
figure. What could it be that would stand there and 
wave its arms in that unearthly fashion? 

“ It’s his ghost ! ” repeated Reddy. “ Come on, 
Jack ; Oi’m a-goin’ back ! ” 

“ Well, I’m not! ” said Jack. “ I’m not afraid of 
a ghost, are you, Allan ? ” 

“ I don’t believe in ghosts,” said Allan, but it must 
be confessed that his nerves were not wholly steady 
as he kept his eyes on the strange figure dancing 
there in the moonlight. 


44 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 

“ If it ain’t a ghost, what is it?” demanded 
Reddy, hoarsely. 

“ That’s just what we’re goin’ t’ find out,” an- 
swered Jack, and started forward, resolutely. 

Allan went with him, but Reddy kept discreetly 
in the rear. He was no coward, — he was as brave 
as any man in facing a danger which he knew the 
nature of, — but all the superstition of his untutored 
Irish heart held him back from this unearthly 
apparition. 

As they drew near, its lines became more clearly 
defined; it was undoubtedly of human shape, but 
apparently it had no head, only a pair of short, 
stubby arms, which waved wildly in the air, and 
a pair of legs that danced frantically. Near at 
hand it was even more terrifying than at a distance, 
and their pace grew slower and slower, while Reddy 
stopped short where he was, his teeth chattering, his 
eyes staring. They could hear what seemed to be a 
human voice proceeding from the figure, raised in a 
sort of weird incantation, now high, now low. Was 
it really a ghost? Allan asked himself ; was it really 





“NEAR AT HAND IT WAS EVEN MORE TERRIFYING THAN 

AT A DISTANCE ” 



ADVENTURE AND A STORY 45 


the spirit of the poor fellow whose life had been 
crushed out a few weeks before? could it be . . . 

Suddenly Jack laughed aloud with relief, and 
hurried forward. 

“ Come on,” he called. “ It’s no ghost ! ” 

And in a moment Allan saw him reach the figure 
and pull the white garment down over its head, dis- 
closing a flushed and wrathful, but very human, 
face. 

“ Thankee, sir,” said a hoarse voice to Jack. “ A 
lady in th’ house back there give me a clean shirt, 
an’ I was jest puttin’ it on when I got stuck in th’ 
dum thing, an’ couldn’t git it either way. I reckon 
I’d ’a’ suffocated if you hadn’t come along! ” 

Jack laughed again. 

“ We thought you was a ghost ! ” he said. “ You 
scared Reddy, there, out of a year’s growth, I reckon. 
Come here, Reddy,” he called, “ an’ take a look at 
yer ghost ! ” 

Reddy came cautiously forward and examined 
the released tramp. 

“ Well,” he said, at last, “ if you ain’t a ghost, 


46 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


you ought t’ be ! I never seed anything that looked 
more loike one ! ” 

“ No, an’ you never will ! ” retorted Jack. “ Come 
along; it’s time we was home,” and leaving the 
tramp to complete his toilet, they hurried away. 

They found Mary sitting on the front porch, 
crooning softly to herself as she rocked Mamie to 
sleep. They bade Reddy good night, and sat down 
beside her. 

“ Well, did y’ have a nice time? ” she asked. 

“ Yes,” laughed Jack, and told her the story of 
the ghost. 

They sat silent for a time after that, look- 
ing down over the busy yards, breathing in the 
cool night air, watching the moon as it sailed slowly 
up the heavens. Allan felt utterly at rest; for the 
first time in many days he felt that he had a home, 
that there were people in the world who loved him. 
The thought brought the quick tears to his eyes ; an 
impulse to confide in these new friends surged up 
within him. 

“ I want to tell you something about myself,” he 


ADVENTURE AND A STORY 47 


said, turning to them quickly. “ It’s only right 
that you should know.” 

Mrs. Welsh stopped the lullaby she had been 
humming, and sat quietly waiting. 

“ Just as y’ please,” said Jack, but the boy knew 
he would be glad to hear the story. 

“ It’s not a very long one,” said Allan, his lips 
trembling, “ nor an unusual one, for that matter. 
Father was a carpenter, and we lived in a little 
home just out of Cincinnati — he and mother 
and I. We were very happy, and I went to school 
every day, while father went in to the city to his 
work. But one day I was called from school, and 
when I got home I found that father had fallen from 
a scaffolding he had been working on, and was so 
badly injured that he had been taken to a hospital. 
We thought for a long time that he would die, but 
he got better slowly, and at last we were able to take 
him home. But he was never able to work any 
more, — his spine had been injured so that he could 
scarcely move himself, — and our little savings grew 
smaller and smaller.” 

Allan stopped, and looked off across the yards, 


48 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


gripping his hands together to preserve his self- 
control. 

“Father worried about it,” he went on, at last; 
“ worried so much that he grew worse and worse, 
until — until — he brought on a fever. He hadn’t 
any strength to fight with. He just sank under 
it, and died. I was fifteen years old then — 
but boys don’t understand at the time how hard 
things are. After he was gone — well, it seems now, 
looking back, that I could have done something 
more to help than I did.” 

“ There, now, don’t be a-blamin’ yerself,” said 
Jack, consolingly. 

The little woman in the rocking-chair leaned over 
and touched his arm softly, caressingly. 

“ No; don’t be blamin’ yerself,” she said. “ I 
know y’ did th’ best y’ could. They ain’t so very 
much a boy kin do, when it’s money that’s needed.” 

“ No,” and Allan drew a deep breath ; “ nor a 
woman, either. Though it wasn’t only that; I’d 
have worked on ; I wouldn’t have given up — but 
— but — ” 


ADVENTURE AND A STORY 49 


“ Yes,” said Mary, understanding with quick, un- 
failing sympathy ; “ it was th’ mother.” 

“ She did the best she could,” went on Allan, 
falteringly. “ She tried to bear up for my sake; but 
after father was gone she was never quite the same 
again ; she never seemed to rally from the shock of 
it. She was never strong to start with, and I saw 
that she grew weaker and weaker every day.” He 
stopped and cleared his voice. “ That’s about all 
there is to the story,” he added. “ I got a little 
from the furniture and paid off some of the debts, 
but I couldn’t do much. I tried to get work there, 
but there didn’t seem to be anybody who wanted me. 
There were some distant relatives, but I had never 
known them — and besides, I didn’t want to seem 
a beggar. There wasn’t anything to keep me in 
Cincinnati, so I struck out.” 

“ And y’ did well,” said Welsh. “ I’m mighty 
glad y’ come along jest when y’ did. Y’ll find 
enough to do here, if y’ will keep a willin’ hand. 
Section work ain’t much, but maybe y’ can git out 
of it after awhile. Y’ might git a place in th’ yard 


50 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


office if ye’re good at figgers. Ye’ve got more 
eddication than some. It’s them that git lifted.” 

“You’d better talk!” said the wife. “ ’Tain’t 
every man with an eddication that gits t’ be foreman 
at your age.” 

“ No more it ain’t,” and Jack smiled. “ Come 
on; it’s time t’ go t’ bed. Say good night t’ th’ 
boy, Mamie.” 

“ Night,” murmured Mamie, sleepily, and held 
out her moist, red lips. 

With a quick warmth at his heart, Allan stooped 
and kissed them. It was the first kiss he had given 
or received since his mother’s death, and, after he 
had got to bed in the little hot attic room, with its 
single window looking out upon the yards, he lay 
for a long time thinking over the events of the day, 
and his great good fortune in falling in with these 
kindly people. Sometime, perhaps, he might be able 
to prove how much their kindness meant to him. 


CHAPTER IV. 


ALLAN MEETS AN ENEMY 

It was not until morning that Allan realized how 
unaccustomed he was to real labour. As he tried 
to spring from bed in answer to Jack’s call, he 
found every muscle in revolt. How they ached! 
It was all he could do to slip his arms into his shirt, 
and, when he bent over to put on his shoes, he almost 
cried out at the twinge it cost him. He hobbled 
painfully down-stairs, and Jack saw in a moment 
what was the matter. 

“ Yer muscles ain’t used t’ tuggin’ at crowbars 
an’ shovellin’ gravel,” he said, laughing. “ It’ll wear 
off in a day or two, but till then ye’ll have t’ grin 
an’ bear it, fer they ain’t no cure fer it. But y’ ain’t 
goin’ t’ work in them clothes ! ” 

“ They’re all I have here,” answered Allan, red- 
dening. “ I have a trunk at Cincinnati with a lot 
more in, and I thought I’d write for it to-day.” 


5 1 


52 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


“ But I reckon ye ain’t got any clothes tough 
enough fer this work. I’ll fix y’ out,” said Welsh, 
good-naturedly. 

So, after breakfast, he led Allan over to a rail- 
road outfitting shop and secured himi a canvas 
jumper, a pair of heavy overalls, and a pair of rough, 
strong, cowhide shoes. 

“ There ! ” he said, viewing his purchases with 
satisfaction. “ Y’ kin pay fer ’em when y’ git yer 
first month’s wages. Y’ kin put ’em on over in th’ 
section shanty. You go along over there; I’ve got 
t’ stop an’ see th’ roadmaster a minute.” 

Allan walked on quickly, his bundle under his 
arm, past the long passenger station and across 
the maze of tracks in the lower yards. Here lines 
of freight-cars were side-tracked, waiting their turn 
to be taken east or west ; and, as he hurried past, a 
man came suddenly out from behind one of them 
and laid a strong hand on his arm. 

“ Here, wait a minute ! ” he said, roughly. “ I’ve 
got somethin’ t’ say t’ you. Come in here ! ” And 
before Allan could think of resistance, he was pulled 
behind the row of cars. 


ALLAN MEETS AN ENEMY 53 


Allan found himself looking up into a pair of 
small, glittering black eyes, deeply set in a face of 
which the most prominent features were a large nose, 
covered with freckles, and a thick-lipped mouth, 
which concealed the jagged teeth beneath but im- 
perfectly. He saw, too, that his captor was not 
much older than himself, but that he was consider- 
ably larger and no doubt stronger. 

“ Ye’re th’ new man on Twenty-one, ain’t you? ” 
he asked, after a moment’s fierce examination of 
Allan’s face. 

“ Yes, I went to work yesterday,” said Allan. 

“ Well, y’ want t’ quit th’ job mighty quick, d’ 
y’ see? I’m Dan Nolan, an’ it’s my job y’ve got. 
I’d ’a’ got took back if ye hadn’t come along. So 
ye’re got t’ git out, d’ y’ hear? ” 

“ Yes, I hear,” answered Allan, quietly, reddening 
a little; and his heart began to beat faster at the 
prospect of trouble ahead. 

“ If y’ know what’s good fer y’, y’ll git out ! ” 
said Nolan, savagely, clenching his fists. “ When’ll 
y’ quit? ” 


54 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


“ As soon as Mr. Welsh discharges me,” answered 
Allan, still more quietly. 

Nolan glared at him for a moment, seemingly 
unable to speak. 

“ D’ y’ mean t’ say y’ won’t git out when I tells 
you to? I’ll show y* !” And he struck suddenly 
and viciously at the boy’s face. 

But Allan had been expecting the onslaught, and 
sprang quickly to one side. Before Nolan could 
recover himself, he had ducked under one of the 
freight-cars and come up on the other side. Nolan 
ran around the end of the car, but the boy was well 
out of reach. 

“ I’ll ketch y’ ! ” he cried after him, shaking his 
fists. “ An’ when I do ketch y’ — ” 

He stopped abruptly and dived back among the 
cars, for he had caught sight of Jack Welsh coming 
across the yards. Allan saw him, too, and waited 
for him. 

“ Wasn’t that Dan Nolan? ” he asked, as he came 
up. 

“ Yes, it was Nolan,” answered Allan. 

“ Was he threatenin’ you? ” 



“HE STRUCK SUDDENLY AND VICIOUSLY AT THE BOY’S 


FACE 





ALLAN MEETS AN ENEMY 55 


“ Yes ; he told me to get out or he’d lay for me.” 

“He did, eh?” and Jack’s lips tightened omi- 
nously. “ What did y’ tell him ? ” 

“ I told him I’d get out when you discharged 
me.” 

“ Y’ did ? ” and Jack clapped him on the shoulder. 
“ Good fer you! Let me git my hands on him once, 
an’ he’ll lave ye alone ! But y’ want t’ look out fer 
him, m’ boy. If he’d fight fair, y’ could lick him; 
but he’s a big, overgrown brute, an’ ’ll try t’ hit y’ 
from behind sometime, mebbe. That’s his style, fer 
he’s a coward.” 

“ I’ll look out for him,” said Allan ; and walked 
on with beating heart to the section shanty. Here, 
while Jack told the story of the encounter with 
Nolan, Allan donned his new garments and laid his 
other ones aside. The new ones were not beautiful, 
but at least they were comfortable, and could defy 
even the wear and tear of work on section. 

The spin on the hand-car out into the open country 
was full of exhilaration, and, after an hour’s work, 
Allan almost forgot his sore muscles. He found that 
to-day there was a different class of work to do. 


56 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


The fences along the right of way were to be re- 
paired, and the right of way itself placed in order 
— the grass cut back from the road-bed, the gravel 
piled neatly along it, weeds trimmed out, rubbish 
gathered up, cattle-guards, posts, and fences at 
crossings whitewashed. All this, too, was a reve- 
lation to the new hand. He had never thought that 
a railroad required so much attention. Rod after 
rod was gone over in this way, until it seemed that 
not a stone was out of place. It was not until the 
noon-hour, when he was eating his portion of the 
lunch Mrs. Welsh had prepared for them, that he 
learned the reason for all this. 

“ Y’ see we’re puttin’ on a few extry touches,” 
remarked Jack. “ Th’ Irish Brigade goes over th’ 
road next week.” 

“ The Irish Brigade?” questioned Allan; and 
he had a vision of some crack military organization. 

“ Yes, th’ Irish Brigade. Twict a year, all th’ 
section foremen on th’ road ’r’ taken over it t’ look 
at th’ other sections, an’ see which man keeps his 
in th’ best shape. Each man’s section’s graded, an’ 
th’ one that gits th’ highest grade gits a prize o’ 


ALLAN MEETS AN ENEMY 57 


fifty dollars. We’re goin’ t’ try fer that prize. So’s 
every other section-gang on th’ line.” 

“ But what is the Irish Brigade? ” questioned the 
boy. 

“ The foremen of the section-men. There’s about 
a hundred, and the officers give us that name. 
There’s many a good Irishman like myself among 
the foremen ; ” and a gleam of humour was in 
Jack’s eyes. “ They say I’m puttin’ my Irish back 
of me in my talk, but the others stick to it, more or 
less. It’s a great time when the Irish Brigade takes 
its inspection tour.” 

Allan worked with a new interest after that, for 
he, too, was anxious that Jack’s section should win 
the fifty dollars. He could guess how much such 
a sum would mean to him. He confided his hopes 
to Reddy, while they were working together cutting 
out some weeds that had sprung up along the track, 
but the latter was not enthusiastic. 

“ Oi don’t know,” he said. “ They’s some mighty 
good section-men on this road. Why, last year, 
when Flaherty, o’ Section Tin, got th’ prize, his 
grass looked like it ’ud been gone over with a lawn- 


58 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


mower, an’ he’d aven scrubbed th’ black gr’ase from 
th’ ingines off th’ toies. Oh, it looked foine; but 
thin, so did all th’ rist.” 

But Allan was full of hope. As he looked back 
over the mile they had covered since morning, he 
told himself that no stretch of track could possibly 
be in better order. But, to the foreman’s more 
critical and experienced eye, there were still many 
things wanting, and he promised himself to go over 
it again before inspection-day came around. 

Every train that passed left some mark behind. 
From the freights came great pieces of greasy waste, 
which littered up the ties, or piles of ashes sifted 
down from the fire-box ; while with the passengers 
it was even worse. The people threw from the 
coach windows papers, banana peelings, boxes and 
bags containing remnants of lunch, bottles, and 
every kind of trash. They did not realize that all 
this must be patiently gathered up again, in order 
that the road-bed might be quite free from litter. 
Not many of them would have greatly cared. 

“ It’s amazin’,” remarked Reddy, in the course 
of the afternoon, “ how little people r’ally know 


ALLAN MEETS AN ENEMY 59 


about railroadin’, an’ thin think they know ’t all. 
They think that whin th’ road’s built, that’s all they 
is to it, an’ all th’ expinse th’ company’s got ’s fer 
runnin’ th’ trains. Why, on this one division, from 
Cincinnati t’ Parkersburg, they’s more’n two hun- 
derd men a-workin’ ivery day jest kapin’ up th’ 
track. Back there in th’ shops, they’s foive hundred 
more, repairin’ an’ rebuildin’ ingines an’ cars. At 
ivery little crossroads they’s an operator, an’ at ivery 
little station they’s six or eight people busy at work. 
Out east, they tell me, they’s a flagman at ivery 
crossin’. Think o’ what all that costs ! ” 

“ But what’s the use of keeping the road-bed so 
clean ? ” asked Allan. “ Nobody ever sees it.” 

“ What’s th’ use o’ doin’ anything roight ? ” re- 
torted Reddy. “ I tell you ivery little thing counts 
in favour of a road, or agin it. This here road’s 
spendin’ thousands o’ dollars straightenin’ out 
curves over there in th’ mountings, so’s th’ passen- 
gers won’t git shook up so much, an’ th’ trains kin 
make a little better toime. Why, I’ve heerd thet 
some roads even sprinkle th’ road-bed with ile t' 
lay th’ dust! 


60 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


“ Human natur’ ’s a funny thing,” he added, 
shaking his head philosophically, “ ’specially when 
it comes t’ railroads. Many’s th’ man Oi’ve seen 
nearly break his neck t’ git acrost th’ track in front 
of a train, an’ thin stop t’ watch th’ train go by ; an’ 
many another loafer, who never does anything but 
kill toime, ’ll worrit hisself sick if th’ train he’s on 
happens t’ be tin minutes late. It’s th’ man who 
ain’t got no business that’s always lettin’ on t’ have 
th’ most. Here comes th’ flier,” he added, as a shrill 
whistle sounded from afar up the road. 

They stood aside to watch the train shoot past 
with a rush and roar, to draw into the station at 
Wadsworth on time to the minute. 

“ That was Jem Spurling on th’ ingine,” observed 
Reddy, as they went back to work. “ Th’ oldest 
ingineer on th’ road — an’ th’ nerviest. Thet’s th’ 
reason he’s got th’ flier. Most fellers loses their 
nerve after they’ve been runnin’ an ingine a long 
time, an’ a year ’r two back, Jem got sort o’ shaky 
fer awhile — slowed down when they wasn’t no need 
of it, y’ know ; imagined he saw things on th’ track 
ahead, an’ lost time. Well, th’ company wouldn’t 


ALLAN MEETS AN ENEMY 61 


stand fer thet, ’specially with th’ flier, an’ finally th’ 
train-master told him thet if he couldn’t bring his 
train in on time, he’d have t’ go back t’ freight. 
Well, sir, it purty nigh broke Jem’s heart. 

“ ‘ Oi tell y’, Mister Schofield,’ he says t’ th’ train- 
master, 4 Oi’ll bring th’ train in on toime if they’s 
a brick house on th’ track.’ 

All right,’ says Mr. Schofield ; ‘ thet’s all we 
ask,’ an’ Jem went down to his ingine. 

“ Th’ next day Jem come into th’ office t’ report, 
an’ looked aroun’ kind O 1 ’ inquirin’ like. 

“ ‘ Any of it got here yet? ’ he asks. 

“ ‘ Any o’ what ? ’ asks Mr. Schofield. 

“ ‘ Any o’ thet coal,’ says Jem. 

“ ‘ What coal ? ’ asks Mr. Schofield. 

“ 1 Somebody left a loaded coal-car on th’ track 
down here by th’ chute,’ says Jem. 

“ 4 They did?’ 

“ * Yes,’ says Jem ; 4 thought they’d throw me late, 
most likely ; but they didn’t. Oi’m not loike a man 
what’s lost his nerve — not by a good deal.’ 

“ ‘ But th’ car — how’d y’ git around it ? ’ asks 
Mr. Schofield. 


62 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


“ ‘ Oh, Oi didn’t try t’ git around it,’ says Jem. 
‘ Oi jest pulled her wide open an’ come through. 
They’s about a ton o’ coal on top o’ th’ rear coach, 
an’ Oi thought maybe I’d find th’ rest of it up 
here. I guess it ain’t come down yit.’ 

“ ‘ But, great Scott, man ! ’ says Mr. Schofield, 
‘ that was an awful risk.’ 

“ 4 Oi guess Oi’d better run my ingine down t’ 
th’ repair shop,’ went on Jem, cool as a cucumber. 
4 Her stack’s gone, an’ the pilot, an’ th’ winders o’ 
th’ cab are busted. But Oi got in on toime.’ 

“ Well, they laid Jem off fer a month,” con- 
cluded Reddy, “ but they’ve niver said anything 
since about his losin’ his nerve.” 

So, through the afternoon, Reddy discoursed of 
the life of the rail, and told stories grave and gay, 
related tragedies and comedies, described hair- 
breadth escapes, and with it all managed to impart 
to his hearer many valuable hints concerning section 
work. 

“ Though,” he added, echoing Jack, “ it’s not on 
section you’ll be workin’ all your life! You’ve got 
too good a head fer that.” 


ALLAN MEETS AN ENEMY 63 


“ I don’t know,” said Allan, modestly. “ This 
takes a pretty good head, too, doesn’t it ? ” 

“ It takes a good head in a way ; but it’s soon 
learnt, an’ after thet, all a man has t’ do is t’ keep 
sober. But this is a, b, c, compared t’ th’ work 
of runnin’ th’ road. Ever been up in th’ despatcher’s 
office ? ” 

“ No,” said Allan. “ I never have.” 

“ Well, y’ want t’ git Jack t’ take y’ up there 
some day; then y’ll see where head-work comes in. 
I know thet all the trainmen swear at th’ despatch- 
es; but jest th’ same, it takes a mighty good man 
t’ hold down th’ job.” 

“ I’ll ask Jack to take me,” said Allan ; and he 
resolved to get all the insight possible into the 
workings of this great engine of industry, of which 
he had become a part. 

Quitting-time came at last, and they loaded their 
tools wearily upon the car and started on the five- 
mile run home. This time there was no disturbing 
incident. The regular click, click of the wheels 
over the rails told of a track in perfect condition. 
At last they rattled over the switches in the yards 


64 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


and pushed the car into its place in the section- 
house. 

“ You run along,” said Jack to Allan. “ Fve got 
t’ make out a report to-night. It’ll take me maybe 
five minutes. Tell Mary I’ll be home by then.” 

“ All right ! ” and Allan picked up his bundle of 
clothes and started across the yards. He could see 
the little house that he called home perched high 
on its bank of clay. Apparently they were watch- 
ing for him, for he saw a tiny figure running down 
the path, and knew that Mamie was coming to 
meet him. She did not stop at the gate, but ran 
across the narrow street and into the yards toward 
him. He quickened his steps at the thought that 
some harm might befall her among this maze of 
tracks. He could see her mother standing on the 
porch, looking down at them, shading her eyes 
with her hand. 

And then, in an instant, a yard-engine whirled 
out from behind the roundhouse. Mamie looked 
around as she heard it coming, and stopped short 
in the middle of the track, confused and terrified 
in presence of this unexpected danger. 


CHAPTER V. 


ALLAN PROVES HIS METAL 

As Allan dashed forward toward the child, he 
saw the engineer, his face livid, reverse his engine 
and jerk open the sand-box; the sand spurted forth 
under the drivers, whirling madly backwards in 
the midst of a shower of sparks, but sliding relent- 
lessly down upon the terror-stricken child. It was 
over in an instant — afterward, the boy could never 
tell how it happened — he knew only that he 
stooped and caught the child from under the very 
wheels of the engine, just as something struck him 
a terrific blow on the leg and hurled him to one side. 

He was dimly conscious of holding the little one 
close in his arms that she might not be injured, then 
he struck the ground with a crash that left him 
dazed and shaken. When he struggled to his feet, 
the engineer had jumped down from his cab and 
6-5 


66 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


Welsh was speeding toward them across the 
tracks. 

“ Hurt? ” asked the engineer. 

“ I guess not — not much ; ” and Allan stooped to 
rub his leg. “ Something hit me here.’’ 

“Yes — the footboard. Knocked you off the 
track. I had her pretty near stopped, or they’d be 
another story.” 

Allan turned to Welsh, who came panting up, 
and placed the child in his arms. 

“ I guess she’s not hurt,” he said, with a wan 
little smile. 

But Jack’s emotion had quite mastered him for 
the moment. 

“ Mamie ! ” he cried, gathering her to him. “ My 
little girl ! ” And the great tears shattered down 
over his cheeks upon the child’s dress. 

The others stood looking on, understanding, 
sympathetic. The fireman even turned away to 
rub his sleeve furtively across his eyes, for he was 
a very young man and quite new to railroading. 

The moment passed, and Welsh gripped back his 


ALLAN PROVES HIS METAL 67 

self-control, as he turned to Allan and held out his 
great hand. 

“ You’ve got nerve,” he said. “ We won’t fergit 
it — Mary an’ me. Come on home — it’s your 
home now, as well as ours.” 

Half-way across the tracks they met Mary, who, 
after one shrill scream of anguish at sight of her 
darling’s peril, had started wildly down the path 
to the gate, though she knew she must arrive too 
late. She had seen the rescue, and now, with 
streaming eyes, she threw her arms around Allan 
and kissed him. 

“ My brave boy ! ” she cried. “ He’s our boy, 
now, ain’t he, Jack, as long as he wants t’ stay? ” 

“ That’s jest what I was tellin’ him, Mary dear,” 
said Jack. 

“ But he’s limpin’,” she cried. “ What’s th’ 
matter? Y’re not hurted, Allan?” 

“ Not very badly,” answered the boy. “ No 
bones broken — just a knock on the leg that took 
the skin off.” 

“ Come on home this instant,” commanded Mary, 
“ an’ we’ll see.” 


68 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


“ Ain’t y’ goin’ t’ kiss Mamie? ” questioned Jack. 

“ She don’t deserve t’ be kissed ! ” protested her 
mother. “ She’s been a bad girl — how often have 
I told her never t’ lave th’ yard ? ” 

Mamie was weeping bitter tears of repentance, 
and her mother suddenly softened and caught her 
to her breast. 

“I — I won’t be bad no more! ” sobbed Mamie. 

“ I should hope not ! An’ what d’ y’ say t’ Allan ? 
If it hadn’t ’a’ been fer him, you’d ’a’ been ground up 
under th’ wheels.” 

“I — I lubs him ! ” cried Mamie, with a very 
tender look at our hero. 

She held up her lips, and Allan bent and kissed 
them. 

“ Well, m’ boy,” laughed Jack, as the triumphal 
procession moved on again toward the house, “ you 
seem t’ have taken this family by storm, fer sure ! ” 

“ Come along ! ” cried Mary. “ Mebbe th’ poor 
lad’s hurted worse’n he thinks.” 

She hurried him along before her up the path, sat 
him down in a chair, and rolled up his trousers 
leg. 


ALLAN PROVES HIS METAL 69 


“ It’s nothing,” protested Allan. “ It’s nothing — 
it’s not worth worrying about.” 

“ Ain't it ! ” retorted Mary, with compressed lips, 
removing shoe and sock and deftly cutting away 
the blood-stained underwear. “ Ain't it! You poor 
boy, look at that ! ” 

And, indeed, it was rather an ugly-looking wound 
that lay revealed. The flesh had been crushed and 
torn by the heavy blow, and was bleeding and 
turning black. 

“ It’s a mercy it didn’t break your leg ! ” she 
added. “ Jack, you loon ! ” she went on, with a 
fierceness assumed to keep herself from bursting 
into tears, “ don’t stand starin’ there, but bring me 
a basin o’ hot water, an’ be quick about it ! ” 

Jack was quick about it, and in a few moments 
the wound was washed and nicely dressed with a 
cooling lotion which Mary produced from a cup- 
board. 

“ I keep it fer Jack,” Mary explained, as she 
spread it tenderly over the wound. “ He’s allers 
gittin’ pieces knocked off o’ him. Now how does 
it feel, Allan darlint ? ” 


70 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


“ It feels fine,” Allan declared. “ It doesn’t hurt 
a bit. It’ll be all right by morning.” 

“ By mornin’ ! ” echoed Mary, indignantly. “ I 
reckon y’ think yer goin’ out on th’ section 
t’-morrer ! ” 

“ Why, of course. I’ve got to go. We’re getting 
it ready for the Irish Brigade. We’ve got to win 
that prize ! ” 

“ Prize!” cried Mary. “Much I care fer th’ 
prize! But there! I won’t quarrel with y’ now. 
Kin y’ walk ? ” 

“ Of course I can walk,” and Allan rose to his 
feet. 

" Well, then, you men git ready fer supper. I 
declare it’s got cold — I’ll have t’ warm it up ag’in ! 
An’ I reckon I’ll put on a little somethin’ extry jest 
t’ celebrate! ” 

She put on several things extra, and there was 
a regular thanksgiving feast in the little Welsh 
home that evening, with Allan in the place of hon- 
our, and Mamie looking at him adoringly from 
across the table. Probably not a single one of the 
employes of the road would have hesitated to do 


ALLAN PROVES HIS METAL 71 


what he had done, — indeed, to risk his life for 
another’s is the ordinary duty of a railroad man, — 
but that did not lessen the merit of the deed in the 
eyes of Mamie’s parents. And for the first time in 
many days, Allan was quite happy, too. He felt 
that he was making himself a place in the world — 
and, sweeter than all, a place in the hearts of the 
people with whom his life was cast. 

But the injury was a more serious one than he 
had been willing to admit. When he tried to get 
out of bed in the morning, he found his leg so stiff 
and sore that he could scarcely move it. He set his 
teeth and managed to dress himself and hobble 
down-stairs, but his white face showed the agony 
he was suffering. 

“ Oh, Allan ! ” cried Mary, flying to him and help- 
ing him to a chair. “ What did y’ want t’ come 
down fer? Why didn’t y call me?” 

“ I don’t want to be such a nuisance as all that ! ” 
the boy protested. “ But I’m afraid I can’t go to 
work to-day.” 

Mary sniffed scornfully. 


72 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


“ No — nor to-morrer ! ” she said. “ You’re goin’ 
t’ stay right in that chair ! ” 

She flew around, making him more comfortable, 
and Allan was coddled that day as he had not been 
for a long time. Whether it was the nursing or the 
magic qualities of Mary’s lotion, his leg was very 
much better by night, and the next morning was 
scarcely sore at all. The quickness of the healing — 
for it was quite well again in three or four days — 
was due in no small part to Allan’s healthy young 
blood, but he persisted in giving all the credit to 
Mary. 

After that, Allan noticed a shade of difference 
in the treatment accorded him by the other men. 
Heretofore he had been a stranger — an outsider. 
Now he was so no longer. He had proved his right 
to consideration and respect. He was “ th’ boy that 
saved Jack Welsh’s kid.” Report of the deed pene- 
trated even to the offices where dwelt the men who 
ruled the destinies of the division, and the superin- 
tendent made a mental note of the name for future 
reference. The train-master, too, got out from his 
desk a many-paged, much-thumbed book, indexed 


ALLAN PROVES HIS METAL 73 


from first to last, and, under the letter “ W,” wrote 
a few lines. The records of nearly a thousand men, 
for good and bad, were in that book, and many a 
one, hauled up “ on the carpet ” to be disciplined, 
had been astonished and dismayed by the train-mas- 
ter’s familiarity with his career. 

Of all the men in the gang, after the foreman, 
Allan found Reddy Magraw the most lovable, and 
the merry, big-hearted Irishman took a great liking 
to the boy. He lived in a little house not far from 
the Welshes, and he took Allan home with him one 
evening to introduce him to Mrs. Magraw and the 
“ childer.” The former was a somewhat faded little 
woman, worn down by hard work and ceaseless self- 
denial, but happy despite it all, and the children were 
as healthy and merry a set of young scalawags as 
ever rolled about upon a sanded floor. There were 
no carpets and only the most necessary furniture, — 
a stove, two beds, a table, and some chairs, for there 
was little money left after feeding and clothing that 
ever hungry swarm, — but everywhere there w r as a 
scrupulous, almost painful, cleanliness. And one 
thing the boy learned from this visit and succeeding 


74 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


ones — that what he had considered poverty was not 
poverty at all, and that brave and cheerful hearts 
can light up any home. 

His trunk arrived from the storage house at Cin- 
cinnati in due time, affording him a welcome change 
of clothing, while Mrs. Welsh set herself to work 
at once sewing on missing buttons, darning socks, 
patching trousers — doing the hundred and one 
things which always need to be done to the clothing 
of a motherless boy. Indeed, it might be fairly said 
that he was motherless no longer, so closely had 
she taken him to her heart. 

Sunday came at last, with its welcome relief from 
toil. They lay late in bed that morning, making up 
lost rest, revelling in the unaccustomed luxury of 
leisure, and in the afternoon Jack took the boy for a 
tour through the shops, swarming with busy life on 
week-days, but now deserted, save for an occasional 
watchman. And here Allan got, for the first time, 
a glimpse of one great department of a railroad's 
management which most people know nothing of. 
In the first great room, the “long shop," half a dozen 
disabled engines were hoisted on trucks and were 


ALLAN PROVES HIS METAL 75 


being rebuilt. Back of this was the foundry, where 
all the needed castings were made, from the tiniest 
bolt to the massive frame upon which the engine- 
boiler rests. Then there was the blacksmith shop, 
with its score of forges and great steam-hammer, 
that could deliver a blow of many tons; and next 
to this the lathe-room, where the castings from the 
foundry were shaved and planed and polished to 
exactly the required size and shape ; and still farther 
on was the carpenter shop, with its maze of wood- 
working machinery, most wonderful of all, in its 
nearly human intelligence. 

Beyond the shop was the great coal chute, where 
the tender of an engine could be heaped high with 
coal in an instant by simply pulling a lever; then 
the big water-tanks, high in air, filled with water 
pumped from the river half a mile away; and last 
of all, the sand-house, where the sand-boxes of the 
engines were carefully replenished before each trip. 
How many lives had been saved by that simple 
device, which enabled the wheels to grip the track 
and stop the train ! How many might be sacrificed 
if, at a critical moment, the sand-box of the engine 


76 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


happened to be empty ! It was a startling reflection 

— that even upon this little cog in the great machine 

— this thoughtless boy, who poured the sand into 
the boxes — so much depended. 

Bright and early Monday morning they were out 
again on Twenty-one. Wednesday was inspection, 
and they knew that up and down those two hundred 
miles of track hand-cars were flying back and forth, 
and every inch of the roadway was being examined 
by eyes severely critical. They found many things to 
do, things which Allan would never have thought 
of, but which appealed at once to the anxious eyes 
of the foreman. 

About the middle of the afternoon, Welsh saw 
a figure emerge from a grove of trees beside the road 
and come slouching toward him. As it drew nearer, 
he recognized Dan Nolan. 

“ Mister Welsh,” began Nolan, quite humbly, 
" can’t y’ give me a place on th’ gang ag’in? ” 

“ No,” said Jack, curtly, “ I can’t. Th’ gang’s 
full.” 

“ That there kid’s no account,” protested Nolan, 


ALLAN PROVES HIS METAL 77 


with a venomous glance at Allan. “ I’ll take his 
place.” 

“ No, you won’t, Dan Nolan ! ” retorted Jack. 
“ He’s a better man than you are, any day.” 

“ He is, is he?” sneered Nolan. “We’ll see 
about that ! ” 

“ An’ if you so much as harm a hair o’ him,” con- 
tinued Jack, with clenched fists, “ I’ll have it out 
o’ your hide, two fer one — jest keep that in mind.” 

Nolan laughed mockingly, but he also took the 
precaution to retreat to a safe distance from Jack’s 
threatening fists. 

“ Y’ won’t give me a job, then ? ” he asked again. 

“Not if you was th’ last man on earth ! ” 

“ All right! ” cried Nolan, getting red in the face 
with anger, which he no longer made any effort 
to suppress. “ All right ! I’ll fix you an’ th’ kid, 
too! You think y’r smart; think y’ll win th’ section 
prize! Ho, ho! I guess not! Not this trip! 
Purty section-foreman you are ! I’ll show you ! ” 

Jack didn’t answer, but he stopped and picked up 
a stone; and Nolan dived hastily back into the 
grove again. 


78 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


“ He’s a big coward,” said Jack, throwing down 
the stone disgustedly, and turning back to his work. 
“ Don’t let him scare y’, Allan.” 

“ He didn’t scare me,” answered Allan, quietly, 
and determined to give a good account of himself 
should Nolan ever attempt to molest him. 

But Jack was not as easy in his mind as he pre- 
tended; he knew Nolan, and believed him quite 
capable of any treacherous meanness. So he kept 
Allan near him; and if Nolan was really lurking 
in the bushes anywhere along the road, he had no 
opportunity for mischief. 

The next morning Jack took his men out directly 
to the western end of the section, and came back very 
slowly, stopping here and there to put a finishing 
touch to the work. Even Reddy was enthusiastic 
over the condition of the section. 

“ It’s foin as silk ! ” he said, looking back over 
the road they had just traversed. “ Ef we don’t git 
th’ prize this toime, it’s because some other feller’s 
a lot smarter *n we are ! ” 


CHAPTER VI. 


REDDY TO THE RESCUE 

Engineer Lister had often been angry in his 
life, for, truth to tell, running an engine is not con- 
ducive to good nerves or even temper. It is a trying 
job, demanding constant alertness, and quick, unerr- 
ing judgment. But when to the usual responsibili- 
ties of the place are added a cranky engine and a 
green fireman, even a saint would lose his patience. 
Ellis Root was the green fireman, and seemed to 
possess such a veritable genius for smothering his 
fire that more than once the engineer had been 
compelled to clamber down from his box and wield 
the rake and shovel himself. To add to this diffi- 
culty of keeping up steam, the 226, a great ten- 
wheeled aristocrat of a freight-engine, had suddenly 
developed a leaky throttle, together with some 
minor ailments, which rendered the task of handling 
her one of increasing difficulty. 


79 


80 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


The last straw was the refusal of the despatcher 
at headquarters to allow Lister to reduce his ton- 
nage. His train happened to be an unusually heavy 
one which, ordinarily, the 226 could have handled 
with ease. The despatcher knew this ; he knew also 
that Lister had an unfortunate habit of complaining 
when there was nothing to complain about ; so when 
this last complaint came in, he wired back a terse 
reply, telling Lister to “ shut up, and bring in your 
train.” 

So Lister was raving angry by the time his 
engine limped feebly into the yards at Wadsworth. 
He jumped off almost before she stopped, and leaped 
up the stairs to the division offices two steps at a 
time, in order to unburden himself without delay 
of his opinion of the despatcher who had so heart- 
lessly refused to help him out of his difficulties. 

He burst into the office like a whirlwind, red 
in the face, gasping for breath. 

“ What’s the matter, Lister ? ” asked the train- 
master, looking up from, his des*k. 

“ Matter ! ” yelled Lister. “ Where’s that thick- 


REDDY TO THE RESCUE 81 


headed despatcher? He ain’t fit to hold a job on 
this road ! ” 

“ What did he do ? ” asked the train-master, 
grinning at the heads that had been stuck in from the 
adjoining rooms to find out what the noise was 
about. “ Tell me what he did, and maybe I’ll fire 
him.” 

“ I’ll tell you what he did ! He made me handle 
my full train when I wired in here an’ told him my 
engine was leakin’ like a sieve. What do you think 
of a roundhouse foreman that’ll send an engine out 
in that shape? ” 

“ So you want me to fire the foreman, too?” 
queried the train-master, grinning more broadly. 
“ Where is the engine ? ” 

“ She’s down there in the yards,” said Lister. 

“ What ! Down in the yards ! Do you mean to 
say you brought her in ? ” 

“ Of course I brought her in,” said Lister. 
“ They ain’t another engineer on th’ road could ’a’ 
done it, but I did it, an’ I want to tell you, Mr. 
Schofield — ” 


82 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


A succession of sharp blasts from the whistle 
of the yard-engine interrupted him. 

“ What’s that? ” cried the train-master, and threw 
up the window, for the blasts meant that an accident 
of some sort had happened. The other men in the 
office rushed to the windows, too, — they saw the 
yardmen running madly about and gesticulating 
wildly, — and away up the yards they saw the 226 
rattling over the switches at full speed, running 
wild ! 

With a single bound the train-master was at the 
door of the despatched office. 

“ Where’s Number Four? ” he demanded. Num- 
ber Four was the fastest through passenger-train 
on the road — the east-bound flier, to which all 
other trains gave precedence. 

The despatcher in charge of the west end of the 
road looked up from his desk. 

“ Number Four passed Anderson three minutes 
ago, sir,” he said. “ She’s on time — she’s due here 
in eight minutes.” 

The train-master’s face grew suddenly livid; a 
cold sweat burst out across his forehead. 


REDDY TO THE RESCUE 83 


“ Good Lord ! ” he murmured, half to himself. 
“ A wreck — no power on earth can help it ! ” 

A vision danced before his eyes — a vision of 
shattered cars, of mangled men and women. He 
knew where the collision must occur ; he knew that 
the flier would be coming down that heavy grade at 
full speed — and toward the flier thundered that wild 
engine — with no guiding hand upon the throttle 
— with nothing to hold her back from her mad 
errand of destruction ! 

It had happened in this wise. A moment after 
Engineer Lister jumped to the ground, and while 
his fireman, Ellis Root, was still looking after him 
with a grin of relief, for the trip had been a hot one 
for him in more ways than one, a yardman came 
along and uncoupled the engine from the train. 
The fireman began to kick off his overalls, when 
he became suddenly conscious that the engine was 
moving. The leaky throttle did not shut off the 
steam completely from the cylinders, and, released 
from the weight of the heavy train which had held 
her back, the engine started slowly forward. 


84 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


The fireman, whose knowledge of the engine was 
as yet of the most primitive description, sprang to 
the other side of the cab and pushed the lever 
forward a notch or two. The engine’s speed in- 
creased. 

“ I can’t stop her,” he said, feverishly, half to 
himself. “ I can’t stop her,” and he pulled the lever 
back. 

The engine sprang back in answer and bumped 
heavily into the train behind her. 

“ Hi, there, you ijit! ” yelled the yard-man, who 
was under the first car inspecting the air-hose. 
“ What you mean ? D’ y’ want t’ kill a feller ? Let 
that ingine alone ! ” 

Ellis, with the perspiration trickling down his 
face, threw the lever forward again, and then, as 
the engine bounded forward in answer, he lost his 
head entirely and leaped off, with a wild yell of 
dismay. 

In a moment the 226 rattled over the switches 
westward out of the yards, and shot out upon the 
main track, gathering speed with every revolu- 
tion! 


REDDY TO THE RESCUE 85 


Welsh’s gang had worked its way eastward along 
the section as far as the mill switch, when the fore- 
man took out his watch and glanced at it. 

“ Git that hand-car off th’ track, boys/’ he said. 
“ Number Four’ll be along in a minute.” 

Two of the men derailed the hand-car, while 
Welsh glanced up and down the road to be sure 
that the track was clear, and took a look at the mill 
switch, a little distance away, where they had been 
working, to make certain that it had been properly 
closed. He remembered that a work-train had taken 
a cut of cars out of the switch a short time before, 
but he could tell by the way the lever was thrown 
that the switch was closed. 

Far in the distance he could hear the train whis- 
tling for the curve just beyond the cut. Then, sud- 
denly from the other direction, he caught a sound 
that brought him sharply round, and saw with 
horror a great freight-engine rumbling rapidly 
toward him. 

“ My God, she’s runnin’ wild ! ” he cried ; and, 
with a yell of warning to his men, turned and ran 


86 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


toward the switch. If he could only get there in 
time to ditch her! 

But the engine whirled past him, and he stopped, 
seeing already the horror, the destruction, which 
must follow in a moment. Then, far ahead, he saw 
Reddy speeding toward the switch, saw him reach 
it, bend above the short lever that controlled it, and 
throw it over. Away up the track the “ flier ” 
flashed into view, running a mile a minute. He 
could guess what was happening in her cab, as her 
engineer saw the danger. The heavy engine rum- 
bled on, all too slowly now, in upon the switch to 
knock th^ bumper at the farther end to splinters 
and fight her life out in the mud beyond. He saw 
Reddy throw the lever back again, only in that 
instant to be hurled away to one side as the great 
train swept by in safety. And the engineer, who 
had reversed his lever and applied the brakes, who 
had waited the outcome with white face and tight- 
set lips, — but who, never for an instant, had thought 
of saving himself by jumping, — released the brakes 
and threw his lever again on the forward motion. 


REDDY TO THE RESCUE 87 


Four minutes later the train swept in to Wadsworth, 
only forty seconds behind the schedule ! 

The passengers never knew how near they had 
been to death — by what a miracle they had escaped 
destruction ! After all, a miss is as good as a mile ! 

Reddy's comrades found him lying unconscious 
twenty feet from the track. His right arm 1 — the 
arm that had thrown the lever — hung limp by his 
side, and there was a great gash in his head from 
which the blood was pouring. In a moment Jack 
had torn off the sleeve of his shirt and made an im- 
provised bandage of it, which checked to some 
extent the flow of blood. 

“ We must git him home," said Welsh, “ where 
we kin git a doctor. He's hurted bad. Git th’ car 
on th' track, boys." 

In an instant it was done, and Reddy was gently 
lifted on. 

“ Now you set down there an' hold his head, 
Allan," said Jack. “ Keep it as stiddy as y’ kin." 

Allan sat down obediently and placed the mangled 
head tenderly in his lap. As he looked at the pale 
face and closed eyes, it was all he could do to keep 


88 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


himself from breaking down. Poor Reddy — good 
old Reddy — a hero, Allan told himself, with 
quickening heart, a hero who had not hesitated to 
risk his life for others. 

But they were off ! 

And how the men worked, pumping up and 
down until the car fairly flew along the track. They 
knew the way was clear, since the flier had just 
passed, and up and down they pumped, up and 
down, knowing that a few minutes might mean 
life or death to their comrade. Down the grade 
they flashed, along the embankment by the river, 
through the town and into the yards, where a dozen 
willing hands lifted the inanimate form from the 
car and bore it tenderly into the baggage-room. 

“ How did it happen, Welsh?” asked the train- 
master, after a surgeon had been summoned and an 
ambulance had taken the still unconscious Reddy to 
his home. 

And Jack told him, while the train-master lis- 
tened, with only a little nod now and then to show 
that he understood. At the end he drew a deep 
breath. 


REDDY TO THE RESCUE 89 


“ I thought the flier was gone for sure,” he said. 
“ It would have been the worst wreck in the history 
of the road. Thank God it was spared us ! ” 

“ Yes, thank God,” said Jack, a little hoarsely; 
“ but don’t fergit t’ thank Reddy Magraw, too!” 

“We won’t ! ” said the train-master, with another 
little nod. “ We’ll never forget Reddy.” 

“ More especially,” added Jack, a little bitterly, 
“ since it’s not th’ first time he’s saved th’ road a 
bad wreck. He was fergot th’ first time ! ” 

“ Yes, I know,” agreed the train-master. “ But 
he wouldn’t have been if I’d had anything to do 
with it.” 

“ I know it, sir,” said Jack, heartily. “ I know 
it, Mr. Schofield. You’ve always treated us square. 
But I couldn’t help rememberin’ ! ” 

Half an hour later Allan and Jack intercepted 
the doctor as he came out of the little house where 
Mrs. Magraw sat with her apron over her head, 
rocking back and forth in agony. 

“ He’ll be all right, won’t he, doctor ? ” asked 
Jack, anxiously. “ He ain’t a-goin’ t’ die? ” 

“ No,” answered the doctor, “ he’ll not die. 


90 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


But,” and he hesitated, “ he got a mighty bad crack, 
and it will be a long time before he’s able to be 
out again.” 

“ He’s come to all right, ain’t he, doctor? ” ques- 
tioned Jack, seeing the doctor’s hesitation. 

“ Yes, he’s conscious again, but he’s not quite 
himself yet. But I think he’ll come around all 
right,” and the doctor walked briskly away, while 
Jack and Allan, assured that they could do nothing 
more for Reddy or his family, whom the neighbours 
had parcelled out among themselves, went slowly 
home. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE IRISH BRIGADE 

It was not until they were seated around the table 
that evening that Allan remembered that the next 
day was to occur the great inspection by the Irish 
Brigade, and he straightened up suddenly as he 
thought of it. 

“ Didn’t that engine tear things up some when 
she ran off the track? ” he asked of Jack. 

“ Yes,” answered the foreman, “ but it was only 
at th’ end of th’ sidin’, an’ that won’t matter. Be- 
sides, th’ wreckin’ crew’s up there now gittin’ th’ 
engine back on th’ track an’ fixin’ things up ag’in. 
If th’ main line on Twenty-one ain’t in good shape, 
it’s because I don’t know what good shape is,” he 
added, with decision. “We couldn’t do anything 
more to it if we worked fer a week. I’ve asked th’ 
boys t’ take a run over it t’-morrer mornin’ jest as 
91 


92 THE YOUNG SECTION - HAND 


a matter o’ precaution. Do y’ think y’ kin git up at 
midnight?” he added, suddenly, giving his wife 
a knowing wink. 

“At midnight?” repeated Allan. “ Why, yes, 
of course, if you want me to.” 

“ Well, y’ll have t’ git up at midnight if y’ want 
t’ ketch Number Five fer Cincinnati.” 

Allan’s face flushed with quick pleasure. 

“ Am I to go, too?” he asked, eagerly. “Can 
you take me, too? ” 

Jack laughed in sympathy with his bright eyes. 

“Yes,” he said; “that’s what I kin. I got an 
extry pass from th’ superintendent. I told him I 
had a boy who wanted t’ see th’ road because he was 
goin’ t’ be superintendent hisself, some day. He 
said he guessed he knew th’ boy’s name without 
bein’ told, an’ wrote out th’ pass.” 

Allan flushed high with pleasure. 

“ That was nice of him,” he said. 

“Yes,” said Jack; “an’ yet I think he was fig- 
gerin’ on helpin’ th’ road, too. Y’ see, whenever 
a bright feller like you comes along an’ shows that 
he’s steady an’ can be depended on, he never gits t’ 


THE IRISH BRIGADE 


93 


work on section very long. They need boys like that 
up in th’ offices. That’s where th’ brains o’ th’ 
road are. In fact, th’ office itself is th’ brain o’ th’ 
whole system, with wires runnin’ out to every part 
of it an’ bringin’ back word what’s goin’ on, jest 
like a doctor told me once th’ nerves do in our 
bodies.” 

“ Yes,” nodded Allan; “ but what has that got to 
do with my going over the road to-morrow ? ” 

“ Jest this,” said Jack ; “ before a feller’s fit to 
hold a job in th’ offices, — a job as operator or des- 
patches that is, — and work one o’ them little wires, 
he’s got t’ know th’ road better’n he knows th’ path 
in his own back yard. He’s got t’ know every foot 
of it — where th’ grades are an’ how heavy they 
are; where th’ curves are, an’ whether they’re long 
or short; where every sidin’ is, an’ jest how many 
cars it’ll hold ; where th’ track runs through a cut, 
an’ where it comes out on a fill ; where every bridge 
and culvert is — in fact, he’s got t’ know th’ road so 
well that when he’s ridin’ over it he kin wake up in 
th’ night an’ tell by th’ way th’ wheels click an’ th’ 
cars rock jest exactly where he is ! ” 


94 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


At the moment Allan thought that Jack was 
exaggerating ; but he was to learn that there was in 
all this not the slightest trace of exaggeration. And 
he was to learn, too, that upon the accuracy of this 
minute knowledge the safety of passenger and 
freight train often depended. 

They sat on the porch again that evening, while 
Mary rocked Mamie to sleep and Jack smoked his 
pipe. Always below them in the yards the little 
yard-engines puffed up and down, placing the cars 
in position in the trains — cars laden with coal and 
grain for the east ; cars laden with finished merchan- 
dise for the west ; the farmer and miner exchanging 
his product for that of the manufacturer. 

Only there was no Reddy to come and whistle at 
the gate, and after awhile they walked over to his 
house to find out how he was. 

Mrs. Magraw let them in. Her stout Irish opti- 
mism had come back again, for Reddy was better. 

“ Though he’s still a little quare,” she added. 
“ He lays there with his oies open, but he don’t 
seem t’ notice much. Th’ docther says it’ll be a day 
or two afore he’s hisself ag’in.” 


THE IRISH BRIGADE 


95 


“ Well, I’m glad it’s no worse,” said Jack. “ We 
can’t afford to lose Reddy.” 

“ We won’t lose him this trip, thank God! ” said 
Mrs. Magraw. “ Mr. Schofield was over jist 
mow t’ see if they was anything he could do. 
He says th’ road’ll make it all roight with Reddy.” 

“ That’s good ! ” said Jack, heartily ; “ but we 
won’t keep you any longer, Mrs. Magraw,” and he 
and Allan said good night. 

“ We must be gittin’ t’ bed ourselves,” Jack 
added, as they mounted the path to his home. 
“ Remember, we have t’ git up at midnight. It’s 
good an’ sleepy you’ll be, my boy ! ” 

“ No, I won’t ! ” laughed Allan. “ But I’ll turn 
in now, anyway.” 

It seemed to him that he had been asleep only 
a few minutes when he heard Jack’s voice calling. 
But he was out of bed as soon as he got his eyes 
open, and got into his clothes as quickly as he 
could in the darkness. Mary had a hot lunch wait- 
ing by the time he got down-stairs. He and Jack 
ate a little, — one doesn’t have much appetite at 
midnight, — and together they made their way 


96 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


across the yards to the station, where they caught 
the fast mail for the city. 

The smoking-car of the train was crowded with 
section-men on their way to the rendezvous, and 
a jolly, good-natured lot they were. There was no 
thought of sleep, for this was a holiday for them, — 
besides, sleep was out of the question in that tumult, 
— and one story of the rail followed another. As 
Allan listened, he wondered at these tales of heroism 
and daring told so lightly — of engineers sticking 
to their posts though certain death stared them in 
the face ; * of crossing-flagmen saving the lives of 
careless men and women, at the cost, often, of their 
own; of break-in-twos, washouts, head-end col- 
lisions, of confusion of orders and mistakes of des- 
patches — all the lore that gathers about the life 
of the rail. And as he listened, the longing came 
to him to prove himself worthy of this brotherhood. 

One story, in particular, stuck in Allan’s memory. 

“ Then there was Tom Rawlinson,” began one of 
the men. 

“ Let Pat tell that story,” interrupted another. 
“ Come out here, Pat. We want t’ hear about 


THE IRISH BRIGADE 


97 


Tom Rawlinson an’ his last trip on th’ Two-twenty- 
four.” 

So Pat came out, shyly, a tall, raw-boned man. 
As he got within the circle of light, Allan saw that 
his face was frightfully scarred. 

“ ’Twas in th’ summer o’ ninety-two,” he began. 
“ Rawlinson had had th’ Two-twenty-four about 
a month, an’ was as proud of her as a man is of 
his first baby. That day he was takin’ a big excur- 
sion train in to Parkersburg. He was lettin’ me ride 
in th’ cab, which he hadn’t any bus’ness t’ do, but 
Tom Rawlinson was th’ biggest-hearted man that 
ever pulled a lever on this road.” 

He paused a moment, and his listeners gravely 
nodded their approval of the sentiment. 

“ Well, he was pullin’ up th’ hill at Torch, an’ 
th’ engine had on every pound she could carry. 
There was a big wind whistlin’ down th’ cut, an’ we 
could hear th’ fire a-roarin’ when th’ fireman pulled 
open th’ door t’ throw in some more coal. Th’ 
minute th’ door was open, the wind jest seemed t’ 
sweep int’ thet fire-box, an’ the first thing I knew, 
a big sheet o’ flame was shootin’ right out in my 


98 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


face. I went back over that tender like a rabbit, 
without stoppin’ t’ argy th’ why an’ th’ wherefore, 
an’ when I got back t’ th' front platform o’ th’ 
baggage-car, I found that Tom an’ his fireman had 
come, too. 

“ We stood there a minute, hardly darin’ t’ 
breathe, a-watchin’ thet fire. It licked out at th’ 
cab, an’ quicker’n I kin tell it, th’ wood was blazin’ 
away in great shape. Then, all of a sudden, I 
happened t’ think o’ somethin’ that sent a cold chill 
down my back, an’ made me sick an’ weak. Here 
was we poundin’ along at forty miles an hour, with 
orders t’ take th’ sidin’ fer Number Three at th’ 
Junction, five mile ahead. It looked to me as though 
they’d be about a thousand people killed inside of 
a mighty few minutes.” 

He stopped to take a fresh chew of tobacco, and 
Allan saw that his hands were trembling at the 
memory of that fearful moment. 

“ Well,” he continued, “ as I was a-sayin’, I 
could feel my hair a-raisin’ right up on my head. 
I looked around at Tom, an’ I could tell by his set 
face that he was thinkin’ of th’ same thing I was. 


THE IRISH BRIGADE 


99 


“ ‘ Boys/ he says, low-like, ‘ I’m goin’ forrerd. 
I’ve got to shet her off. I hadn’t no business t’ 
run away.’ 

“ An’ without waitin’ fer either o’ us t’ answer, 
forrerd he went, climbin’ over th’ coal an’ down into 
th’ burnin’ cab. It was like goin’ into a furnace, but 
he never faltered — right on he went — right on 
into th’ fire — an’ in a minute I felt th’ jerk as he 
reversed her an’ threw on th’ brakes. It seemed t’ 
me as though we’d never come to a stop, but we did, 
an’ then th’ brakeman an’ me went forrerd over 
th’ coal t’ git Tom out. But it warn’t no use. He 
was layin’ dead on his seat, still holdin’ to th’ 
throttle. 

“We lifted him down, an’ by that time th’ con- 
ductor an’ a lot o’ th’ passengers come a-runnin’ up. 
An’ then folks begun tellin’ me my face was 
burned,” and Pat indicated his scars with a rapid 
gesture. “ Till then, I’d never even felt it. When 
y’re in it, y’ know, y’ only feel it fer others, not 
fer yourself.” 

That ended the story-telling. There was some- 

L.cfO. 


100 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


thing in that tale of sacrifice which made other 
tales seem idle and empty. 

The dawn was just tingeing the sky in the east 
when the train rushed into the great, echoing train- 
shed at Cincinnati. The men got out and hurried 
forward to the dining-room, where a lunch of coffee 
and sandwiches awaited them. Here, too, were the 
train-master and division superintendent, trim-built, 
well-groomed men, with alert eyes, who knew the 
value of kind words and appreciative criticism when 
it came to managing men. Lunch was hastily eaten, 
and then the whole crowd proceeded to the special 
inspection train, where it stood on the side-track 
ready to start on its two hundred mile trip east- 
ward. And a peculiar looking train it was — con- 
sisting, besides the engine, of only one car, a tall, 
ungainly, boarded structure, open at one end, and, 
facing the open end, tiers of seats stretching upward 
to the roof. 

Into this the men poured and took their seats, 
so that every one could see the long stretch of track 
as it slid backward under them. Almost at once the 
signal came to start, and the gaily decorated engine 


THE IRISH BRIGADE 101 


— draped from end to end in green, that all might 
know it was the £ ‘ Irish Brigade ” out on its in- 
spection tour — pulled out through the “ ditch,” 
as the deep cut within the city limits is called, past 
the vast stock-yards and out upon the level track 
beyond. Instantly silence settled upon the car, 
broken only by the puffing of the engine and the 
clanking of the wheels over the rails. Seventy 
pairs of eyes were bent upon the track, the road- 
bed, the right of way, noting every detail. Seventy 
pairs of ears listened to the tale the wheels were 
telling of the track’s condition. It was a serious 
and solemn moment. 

Allan, too, looked out upon all this, and his heart 
fell within him. Surely, no track could be more 
perfect, no road-bed better kept. It must be this 
section which would win the prize. Yet, when that 
section had been left behind and the next one entered 
on, he could detect no difference. How could any- 
body rate one section higher than another, when all 
alike were perfect? And what possible chance was 
.there for Twenty-one? 

They were side-tracked at the end of an hour to 


102 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


allow a through passenger to pass, and the babel 
of voices arose again. But it was silenced at once 
the moment they ran out to continue on the journey. 
Hours passed, and at last, with a leaping heart, 
Allan recognized the west end of Section Twenty- 
one. He glanced at Jack Welsh, and saw how his 
eyes were shining, but he dared not look in his 
direction a second time. He stared out at the track 
and wondered if it was really here that he had 
laboured for the past week. 

Yes, — he recognized the landmarks, — the high 
trestle over the deep ravine, the cut, the long grade, 
the embankment along the river. It seemed almost 
that he knew every foot of the track ; but he did not 
know it so well as he thought, for his eyes did not 
detect what Welsh's more critical ones saw on the 
instant, — traces of gravel dug out, of whitewash 
rubbed away, of a guard-fence broken down. The 
gravel had been replaced, the whitewash touched up 
anew, the fence had been repaired, but Welsh knew 
that the section was not as he had left it the night 
before, and in a flash he understood. 

“ It was some of Dan Nolan's work," he said 


THE IRISH BRIGADE 103 

to himself, and, the moment the train stopped 
in the yards at Wadsworth, he called to Allan and 
hurried away to the section-shanty to hear the 
story. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


GOOD NEWS AND BAD 

His men were waiting for him, as he knew they 
would be, and the story was soon told. They had 
started out in the morning, according to his in- 
structions, for a last run over the section, and soon 
discovered the work of the enemy. Ties which had 
been piled neatly at the side of the right of way had 
been thrown down, whitewashed boulders around 
the mile-posts had been tom up, in many places 
holes had been dug in the road-bed, — in short, the 
section was in a condition which not only would have 
lost them the prize, but would have brought unbear- 
able disgrace upon their foreman. 

They set to work like Trojans righting the 
damage, for they knew they had only a few hours, 
beginning at the western end and working slowly 
back toward the city. More than once it seemed 

104 


GOOD NEWS AND BAD 105 


that they could not get through in time ; but at last 
the work was done, just as the whistle of the in- 
spection train sounded in the distance. 

“ An’ mighty well done,” said Jack, approvingly, 
when the story was ended. “ You've done noble, 
m’ boys, an' I won't fergit it! Th’ section's in as 
good shape as it was last night.” 

“ But what dirty criminal tore it up ? ” asked one 
of the men. 

“ I know who it was,” and Jack reddened with 
anger. “ It was that loafer of a Dan Nolan. He 
threatened he’d git even with me fer firin' him, but 
I didn’t pay no attention. I didn't think he’d got 
that low ! Wait till I ketch him ! ” 

And his men echoed the threat in a tone that 
boded ill for Daniel. 

“ Come on, Allan, we've got t' be gittin' back,” 
said Jack. “ An’ thank y' ag'in, boys,” and together 
he and Allan turned back toward the waiting train. 

Section Twenty-one was the last inspected before 
dinner, which was awaiting them in the big depot 
dining-room at Wadsworth. The officers came 
down from division headquarters to shake hands 


106 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


with the men as they sat grouped about the long 
tables, and good-natured chaff flew back and forth. 
But at last the engine-bell announced that the green- 
decked train was ready to be off again eastward, 
over the last hundred miles of the division, which 
ended at Parkersburg. 

The men swarmed into their places again, and 
silence fell instantly as the train started, rattling 
over the switches until it was clear of the yards, then 
settling into a regular click, click, as it swung out 
upon the main line. It must be confessed that this 
portion of the trip had little interest for Allan. The 
monotony of it — mile after mile of track gliding 
steadily away — began to wear upon him. He was 
no expert in track-construction, and one stretch of 
road-bed looked to him much like every other. So, 
before long, he found himself nodding, and, when 
he straightened up with a jerk and opened his eyes, 
he found Jack looking at him with a little smile. 

They ran in upon a siding at Moonville to make 
way for a passenger-train, and Jack, beckoning to 
Allan, climbed out upon the track. 

“ I kin see you’re gittin’ tired,” said Jack, as 


GOOD NEWS AND BAD 107 

they walked up and down, stretching their legs. “ I 
ought to let you stop back there at Wadsworth. But 
mebbe I kin give y’ somethin’ more interestin’ fer 
th’ rest o’ th’ trip. How’d y’ like t’ ride in th’ 
engine ? ” 

Allan’s eyes sparkled. 

“ Do you think I might ? ” he asked, eagerly. 

Jack laughed. 

“ I thought that’d wake y’ up! Yes, — we’ve got 
Bill Higgins with us on this end, an’ I rather think 
he’ll let you ride in th’ cab. Let’s find out.” 

So they walked over to where the engineer was 
“ oiling round,” in railroad parlance — going slowly 
about his engine with a long-spouted oil-can in one 
hand and a piece of waste in the other, filling the 
oil-cups, wiping off the bearings, feeling them to 
see if they were too hot, crawling under the boiler 
to inspect the link motion — in short, petting his 
engine much as one might pet a horse. 

“ Bill,” began Jack, “ this is Allan West, th’ boy 
thet I took on section with me.” 

Bill nodded, and looked at Allan with friendly 
eyes. 


108 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


“ Yes,” he said, “ I’ve heerd o’ him.” 

“ Well,” continued Jack, “ he’s gittin’ purty tired 
ridin’ back there with nothin’ t’ do but watch th’ 
track, an’ I thought mebbe you’d let him ride in th’ 
cab th’ rest o’ th’ trip.” 

“ Why, sure ! ” agreed Bill, instantly. “ Climb 
right up, sonny.” 

Allan needed no second invitation, but clambered 
up and took his place on one of the long seats which 
ran along either side of the cab. Right in front of 
him was a narrow window through which he could 
see the track stretching far ahead to meet the hori- 
zon. Below him was the door to the fire-box, into 
which the fireman was at that moment shovelling 
coal. At his side, mounted on the end of the boiler, 
was a maze of gauges, cocks, wheels, and levers, 
whose uses he could not even guess. 

The engineer clambered up into the cab a moment 
later, glanced at the steam and water gauges, to see 
that all was right, and then took his place on his 
seat. He got out his “ flimsy ” — the thin, mani- 
folded telegraphic train order from headquarters, 
a copy of which had also been given to the con- 


GOOD NEWS AND BAD 109 


ductor — and read it carefully, noting the points at 
which he was to meet certain trains and the time he 
was expected to make to each. Then he passed it 
over to his fireman, who also read it, according to 
the rules of the road. One man might forget some 
point in the orders, but it was not probable that 
two would. 

There came a long whistle far down the line, and 
Allan saw the through passenger train leap into 
view and came speeding toward them. It passed 
with a rush and a roar, and a minute later the con- 
ductor raised his hand. The engineer settled him- 
self on his seat, pushed his lever forward, and opened 
the throttle gently, pulling it wider and wider as 
the engine gathered speed. Never for an instant 
did his glance waver from the track before him — 
a moment’s inattention might mean death for him 
and for the men entrusted to his care. 

There was something fascinating in watching the 
mighty engine eat up mile after mile of track. 
There were other things to watch, too. At every 
crossing there was the danger of an accident, and 
Allan was astonished at the chances people took in 


110 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


driving across the track, without stopping to look 
up and down to see if there was any danger. Deep 
in talk they were sometimes, until roused by a fierce 
blast from the whistle; or sometimes the curtains 
of the buggy hid them entirely from view. And 
although the right of way was private ground and 
carefully fenced in on either side, there were many 
stragglers along it, — a group of tramps boiling 
coffee in a fence corner, a horse or cow that had 
managed to get across a cattle-guard, children play- 
ing carelessly about or walking the rails in imitation 
of a tight-rope performer. All these had to be 
watched and warned of their danger. Never once 
did the engineer lift his hand from the throttle, for 
that gave him the ‘‘feel ” of the engine, almost as 
the reins give the driver the “ feel ” of a spirited 
horse. Now and then he glanced at the steam- 
gauge, but turned back instantly to watch the track 
ahead. 

Nor was the fireman idle. His first duty was to 
keep up steam, and he noted every variation of the 
needle which showed the pressure, shaking down his 
fire, and coaling up, as occasion demanded ; raking 


GOOD NEWS AND BAD 111 


the coal down from the tender, so as to have it 
within easy reach ; sweeping off the “ deck,” as 
the narrow passage from engine to tender is 
called; and occasionally mounting the seat-box to 
ring the bell, as they passed through a little village. 

Allan began to understand the whistle signals — 
especially the two long and two short toots which 
are the signal for a crossing, the signal most 
familiar to travellers and to those who live along 
the line of a railroad. And he grew accustomed 
to the rocking of the engine, the roaring of the fire, 
the sudden, vicious hiss of steam when the engineer 
tested a cock, the rush of the wind and patter of 
cinders against the windows of the cab. He began 
to take a certain joy in it — in the noise, the rattle, 
the motion. There was an excitement in it that 
made his pulses leap. 

So they hummed along, between broad fields, 
through little hamlets and crossroads villages, mile 
after mile. Operators, flagmen, and station-agents 
came out to wave at them, here and there they passed 
a section-gang busy at work, now and then they 
paused until a freight or passenger could thunder 


112 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


past — on and on, on and on. Allan looked out at 
field and village, catching glimpses of men and 
women at work, of children at play — they would 
turn their faces toward him, and in another instant 
were gone. The life of the whole country was 
unfolded before him, — everywhere there were men 
and women working, everywhere there were chil- 
dren playing, — everywhere there was life and hope 
and happiness and sorrow. If one could only go 
on like this for ever, visiting new scenes, seeing 
new — 

A sharp, sudden, agonized cry from the fireman 
startled him out of his thoughts, and he felt the 
quick jolt as the engineer reversed his engine and 
applied the brakes. For a moment, in the shriek- 
ing, jolting pandemonium that followed, he thought 
the engine was off the track; then, as he glanced 
ahead, his heart suddenly stood still. For there, 
toddling down the track toward the engine, its 
little hands uplifted, its face sparkling with laughter, 
was a baby, scarce old enough to walk ! 

As long as he lives Allan will never forget that 
moment. He realized that the train could not 



“ SNATCHED THE LITTLE ONE INTO THE AIR JUST AS 
THE ENGINE BORE DOWN UPON IT ” 






• • 
















\ 






































<• 



















































GOOD NEWS AND BAD 113 


be stopped, that that little innocent, trusting life 
must be ground out beneath the wheels. He felt 
that he could not bear to see it, and turned away, 
but just then the fireman sprang past him, slammed 
open the little window, ran along the footboard, 
clambered down upon the pilot, and, holding to a 
bolt with one hand, leaned far over and snatched 
the little one into the air just as the engine bore 
down upon it. Allan, who had watched it all with 
bated breath, fell back upon his seat with a great 
gasp of thankfulness. 

The engine stopped with a jerk, the fireman 
sprang to the ground with the baby in his arms. 
It was still crowing and laughing, and patting his 
face with its hands. Allan, looking at him, was sur- 
prised to see the great tears raining down his cheeks 
and spattering on the baby’s clothes. 

“ It’s his kid,” said the engineer, hoarsely. “ He 
lives up yonder,” and he nodded toward a little 
house perched on the hillside that sloped down to 
the track. “ That’s th’ reason th’ kid was down 
here — he come down t’ see his daddy ! ” 

The section-men came pouring forward to find 


114 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


out what was the matter, and surrounded the baby 
as soon as they heard the story, petting him, passing 
him around from hand to hand — until, suddenly, 
the mother, who had just missed him, came flying 
down the hill and snatched him to her breast. 

“ Pile back in, boys,” called the conductor, cut- 
ting short the scene. “ We can’t stay here all 
day. We’ve got t’ make Stewart in eighteen 
minutes.” 

They hurried back to their places, the engineer, 
stopping only to give his fireman a hearty grip of 
the hand, opened the throttle. This time they were 
off with a jump — lost time had to be made up, 
and in a moment they were singing along at a speed 
which seemed positively dangerous. The engine 
rocked back and forth, and seemed fairly to leap 
over the rails ; the wind whistled around them ; the 
fire roared and howled in the fire-box. Eighteen 
minutes later, they pulled in to the siding at Stewart, 
on time to the second. 

Allan had had enough of riding in the cab, and, 
thanking the engineer, and shaking hands with the 
fireman, he climbed down and took his seat again 


GOOD NEWS AND BAD 115 


in the inspection-car. But he was very tired, and 
soon nodded off to sleep, and it was not until the 
train stopped and a sudden clamour of talk arose 
that he started fully awake. 

The men were handing in their reports to the 
superintendent, who, with the assistance of the train- 
master, was going over them rapidly to find out 
which section had received the most points. Zero 
was very bad ; ten was perfection. There were no 
zeros on any of the seventy reports, however; and, 
let it be added, not many tens. 

The moments passed as the train-master set 
down in a column under each section the number 
of points it had received. Then he added up the 
columns, the superintendent looking over his shoul- 
der. They compared the totals for a moment, and 
then, with a smile, the superintendent took from 
his pocket a check upon which the name only was 
lacking, and filled it in. Then he turned to the 
expectant men. 

“ Gentlemen,” he began, “ I think this company 
has cause to be congratulated on the condition of its 
road-bed. A vote of seven hundred, as you know, 


116 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


would mean perfection, and yet, not a single section 
has fallen below six hundred. The highest vote 
for any one section is 673, and that vote is given 
for Section Twenty-one, of which John Welsh is 
foreman. Mr. Welsh, will you please come forward 
and get your check? ” and he fluttered the paper in 
the air above his head. 

A great burst of cheering broke forth again and 
again. They were generous men, these section- 
foremen of the Irish Brigade, and, seeing how all 
thought of self was forgotten, Allan’s eyes grew 
suddenly misty. Not a man there who seemed to 
feel the bitterness of the vanquished. But as Allan 
glanced over to Jack, who was making his way 
over the seats and stopping to return hand-shakes 
right and left, a cheer on his own account burst 
from the boy’s lips, and he tossed his cap wildly in 
the air. 

“ Good for ye, lad ! ” cried one of the men, slap- 
ping the boy on his back. “ Give him a cheer ! 
That’s right. Give him another cheer ! ” and Allan 
was lifted to the shoulders of one of the brawny 
men, who cried : “ This is the b’y that saved Jack 


GOOD NEWS AND BAD 117 


Welsh’s colleen, worth more than a prize to Jack 
Welsh! Give the b’y a cheer! ” 

And the men responded with a will! 

A moment later and they settled down again, as 
they saw the superintendent was waiting for their 
attention. 

“ Welsh,” began that official, when quiet was 
restored, “ you’re a good man, and I’m glad that 
you got the prize. But,” he added, looking around 
over the crowd, “ you’re not the only good man in 
the Irish Brigade. The only thing I’m sorry for is 
that I can’t give a prize to every man, here. I’m 
like the Dodo in ‘ Alice in Wonderland ’ — I think 
you’ve all won, and that you all ought to have 
prizes. I want to thank you every one for your 
good work. I’m not overstating things a bit when 
I say that this division is in better shape than any 
other on the road. We’ve had fewer accidents, and 
we’ve run our trains closer to' the schedule than any 
other — all of which is largely due to your good 
work. I’m proud of my Irish Brigade! ” 

They cheered him and clapped him, and every 
man there resolved to do better work, if possible, 


118 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 

in the coming year than he had done in the past 
one. 

And yet there were some of the officials in the 
far-distant general offices at Baltimore who won- 
dered why the superintendent of the Ohio division 
was so popular with his men! 

Jack came to Allan at last and gripped his hand 
with a strength that proved how deep his emotion 
was. 

“ Come on,” he said. “ We’re goin’ home on 
Number Seven. It’ll start in a minute.” 

They went together across the tracks and clam- 
bered into the coach. Allan caught a confused 
picture of a glare of lights and laughing people 
crowding past. But hardly had the train started 
when his head fell back against the seat, and slum- 
ber claimed him. 

Jack waked him up at the journey’s end, and 
together they hurried through the yards and up 
the steep path to the little cottage. Jack’s wife was 
awaiting him in the doorway, and he drew forth the 
check and placed it in her hands. 


GOOD NEWS AND BAD 119 


“ We won,” he said, softly. “ ’Twas fer you, 
Mary, I wanted t’ win. It means th’ new dress 
you’ve been a-needin’ so long, an’ a dress fer 
Mamie; yes, an’ a new carpet.” 

The wife said not a single word, but drew Jack’s 
face down to hers and kissed it. 

“ Only,” he added, when his head was lifted, “ I 
want t’ give tin dollars of it t’ th’ boys — I’d ’a’ 
lost if it hadn’t been fer them. An’ Reddy — how’s 
old Reddy?” 

“ Oh, Jack ! ” she cried, her eyes suffused with 
sudden tears, her lips a-tremble, “ it’s too terrible ! 
He’s come to, but he don’t remember nothin’ — not 
a thing! He don’t know anybody — not even his 
own wife, Jack, nor th’ childer, an’ th’ doctor says 
that maybe he never will ! ” 


CHAPTER IX. 


reddy's exploit 

As time went on, it became more and more evi- 
dent that the doctor’s prediction with regard to 
Reddy Magraw was to be fulfilled. He regained his 
strength, but the light seemed quite gone from his 
brain. The officials of the railroad company did 
all they could for poor Reddy. When the local 
doctors failed, they brought an eminent specialist 
from Cincinnati for consultation, but all seemed to 
agree there was nothing to be done but to wait. 
There was one chance in a thousand that a surgical 
operation might prove of benefit, but there was just 
as great a chance that Nature herself might do the 
work better. 

Reddy remembered nothing of his past life. 
More than this, it gradually became evident to his 
friends that his genial nature had undergone a 


120 


REDDY’S EXPLOIT 


121 


change through the darkness that had overtaken 
his brain. He grew estranged from his family, and 
strangely suspicious of some of his friends, those to 
whom he had really been most attached. Among 
these last was Allan. He would have nothing what- 
ever to do with the boy. 

“ It’s one of the most ordinary symptoms of 
dementia,” the doctor had explained, when Jack 
questioned him about it. “ Aversion to friends is 
what we always expect. His wife feels it more 
keenly than you do. ,, 

“ Of course she does, poor woman ! ” agreed Jack. 
“ But he hasn’t got to abusin’ her, sir, has he? ” 

“ Oh, no; he doesn’t abuse her; he just avoids 
her, and shows his dislike in other ways. If he be- 
gins to abuse her, we’ll have to send him to the 
asylum. But I don’t anticipate any violence — I 
think he’s quite harmless.” 

It was while they were sitting on the porch one 
evening discussing the sad situation of their friend, 
that Allan turned suddenly to Jack. 

“ Do you remember,” he said, “ that first noon 
we were talking together, you started to tell me of 


122 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


some brave thing Reddy had done, and he shut 
you off? ” 

“ Yes,” Jack nodded; “ I remember. ,, 

“ Tell me now, won’t you? I’d like to hear about 
it.” 

“ All right,” said Jack, and told the story. Here 
it is : 

Six years before, Reddy Magraw had been one of 
the labourers at the big coal-chute which towered 
into the air at the eastern end of the yards; just 
an ordinary labourer, working early and late, as 
every labourer for a railroad must, but then, as 
always, happy and care-free. 

It was one afternoon in June that a message 
flashed into the despatcher’s office which sent the 
chief despatcher headlong into the office of the 
superintendent. 

“ The operator at Baker’s just called me up, sir,” 
he gasped, “to report that second Ninety-seven ran 
through there, going forty miles an hour, and that 
the engineer dropped a message tied to a wrench 
saying his throttle-valve had stuck, and his brakes 


REDDY’S EXPLOIT 123 

wouldn’t work, and that he couldn’t stop his 
engine! ” 

The superintendent started to his feet, his face 
livid. 

“ They’ll be here in eight . minutes,” he said. 
“Where’s Number Four?” 

“ Just past Roxabel. We can’t catch her, and the 
freight will run into her sure if we let it through 
the yards.” 

“We won’t let it through the yards,” said the 
superintendent, and went down the stairs three steps 
at a time, and sped away in the direction of the 
coal-chute. 

He had reflected rapidly that if the freight could 
be derailed at the long switch just below the chute, 
it could be run into a gravel bank, where it would 
do much less damage than farther up in the yards, 
among the network of switches there. He ran his 
swiftest, but as he reached the chute, he heard, far 
down the track, the roar of the approaching train. 
Evidently it was not yet under control. Reddy 
Magraw heard the roar, too, and straightened up in 
amazement. Why should a freight approach the 


124 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


yards at that speed ? Then he saw the superintend- 
ent tugging madly at the switch. 

“ Thet switch won’t work, sir,” he said. “ A 
yard ingine hit the p’int about an hour ago an’ 
jammed it.” 

“ Won’t work ! ” echoed the superintendent, and 
stared blankly down the track at the train which 
every second was whirling nearer. 

“ Is it a runaway ? ” asked Reddy, suddenly un- 
derstanding. 

“ Yes, — a runaway, — maybe I can make the 
other switch,” and he started away, but Reddy 
caught him by the arm. 

“ Wait, sir,” he cried ; “ wait. We’ll fix ’em — 
throw ’em on to th’ chute.” 

“ On to the chute ? ” 

“ Yes, on to th’ chute. Throw th’ switch there,” 
and Reddy, grabbing up two big cans of oil, started 
for the track leading to the long ascent. 

Then the superintendent understood, and, with a 
gasp of relief, ran to the switch and threw it. 

Up the steep ascent ran Reddy, a can in either 
hand, spurting streams of oil upon the rails — up 


REDDY’S EXPLOIT 


125 


and up — yet it seemed that he must certainly be 
caught and hurled to death, for a moment later the 
great freight-engine reached the structure, which 
groaned and trembled under this unaccustomed 
weight. Up the incline it mounted, the weight of 
the train behind it urging it on. Half-way up, 
two-thirds, almost upon Reddy, where he bent over 
the rails, a can in either hand, never pausing to 
look back. 

From under the pounding drivers the smoke flew 
in clouds — the oil was being burned by friction. 
Yet down the rails flowed more oil; the drivers 
were sliding now, the speed of the train was lessen- 
ing — lessening. The engine was racking itself 
out, its power was spent, it had been conquered. 
For an instant it hung poised on the incline, then 
slowly started down again. The crew had managed 
to set the hand-brakes, and these held the train 
somewhat, but still it coasted back down that in- 
cline at a speed that brought the watchers’ hearts 
into their throats. The wheels held the rails, how- 
ever, and a quarter of a mile back on the main line 
it stopped, its power for evil exhausted. And just 


126 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


then Number Four whistled for signal, and rumbled 
slowly into the other end of the yards. The superin- 
tendent drew a deep breath of relief and thankful- 
ness as he thought of what the result would have 
been had the runaway not been stopped in time. 

“Was Reddy hurt?” asked Allan, who had lis- 
tened to the story breathlessly. 

“Hurt? Oh, no; he come down th’ chute, put 
th’ empty oil-cans back in their places, an’ went t’ 
work ag’in.” 

“ But didn’t the company do something for 
him? ” persisted the boy. “ Wasn’t he rewarded? ” 

“ No,” said Jack, puffing away at his pipe with a 
very grim face; “but th’ superintendent was pro- 
moted.” 

“ The superintendent?” 

“ Yes ; he got his promotion. Y’ see, in his 
report of th’ accident, he somehow fergot t’ mention 
Reddy.” 

Allan flushed with a sudden generous anger. 

“ But,” he began, “ that wasn’t — ” 

“ Honest ? ” and Jack laughed a little bitterly. 
“ No, maybe not ; but what could a poor feller like 


REDDY’S EXPLOIT 


127 


Reddy do about it? Only,” he added, “ it’s jest as 
well fer that superintendent he didn’t stay on this 
division. Th’ boys would ’a’ given him some 
mighty lively times. We’ve got a gentleman fer a 
superintendent now. He don’t try t’ stale nobody 
else’s thunder — he’s given Reddy a square deal 
this time.” 

Truth to tell, Reddy’s family was being better 
provided for than it had ever been — the superin- 
tendent saw to that; and Reddy himself was re- 
ceiving the best medical attention to be secured, 
though it seemed more and more certain that even 
the greatest skill would be unable to restore his 
memory. 

It was long before sleep came to Allan’s eyes 
that night, so excited was he over Jack’s story of 
Reddy’s exploit, and so indignant at the injustice 
that had been done him. He was thinking about it 
still, next day, until, of a sudden, he was forcibly 
reminded that he also possessed an enemy who was 
watching eagerly for an opportunity to injure him, 
and who would pause at no treachery. 


CHAPTER X. 


A SUMMONS IN THE NIGHT 

This reminder came that very afternoon while 
he was working at the bottom of the deep cut 
through the spur of the hill which marked the top 
of the long, stiff grade just west of the mill switch. 

The other members of the gang were at the 
farther end of the cut, and Allan had just finished 
levelling down a pile of gravel, when he heard a 
sudden shout of warning from Jack. 

“ Look out, Allan!” cried the latter. “ Look 
out!” 

Allan instinctively sprang aside, and was just 
in time to escape a large boulder which came crash- 
ing down the side of the cut. 

Allan gazed at it in astonishment, drawing a 
deep breath at his escape. Then he saw Jack, fol- 
lowed by the others, charging madly up the side of 

128 



1J 


“ JUST IN TIME TO ESCAPE A LARGE BOULDER 









SUMMONS IN THE NIGHT 129 


the hill. Without stopping to reason why, he 
followed. 

“What’s the matter?” he cried, as he came 
panting up behind the ones who had just gained the 
hilltop. 

“Matter!” cried Jack, glaring around to right 
and left over the hillside. “ Matter enough ! What 
d’ y’ suppose made that rock fall that way ? ” 

“ Why,” said Allan, looking around bewildered, 
“ the earth under it must have given way — ” 

“Nonsense!” interrupted the foreman, impa- 
tiently. “ Look, here’s th’ hole it left. Th’ earth 
didn’t give way a bit. Y’ kin see th’ rock was pried 
out — yes, an’ here’s th’ rail that was used to do it 
with. Now, who d’ y’ suppose had hold of that 
rail?” 

Allan turned a little giddy at the question. 

“ Not Dan Nolan? ” he said, in an awed whisper. 

“ Who else but Dan Nolan. A.n’ he’s hidin’ down 
there in one o’ them gullies, sneakin’ along, keepin’ 
out o’ sight, or I’m mistaken.” 

“ Did you see him ? ” asked Allan. 

“ No, I didn’t see him,” retorted Jack. “ If I’d 


130 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


seen him, I’d have him in jail afore night, if I had 
t’ hunt this whole county over fer him. But I know 
it was him. Who else could it be? You know he’s 
threatened y\ He’s been hangin’ around doggin’ 
y’ ever since I put y’ at this job. There’s more’n 
one of us knows that; an’ there’s more’n one of 
us knows, too, that he wouldn’t be above jest this 
kind o’ work. He lamed a man on my gang, onct, 
jest because he had a grudge ag’in him — dropped 
th’ end of a rail on his foot an’ mashed it so bad 
that it had t’ be taken off. He said it was an acci- 
dent, an’ I believed him, fer I didn’t know him 
as well then as I do now. He wouldn’t stop at 
murder, Dan Nolan wouldn’t — why, that rock 
would ’a’ killed you in a minute, if it had hit you ! ” 

“ Yes, I believe it would,” said Allan, and he 
shivered a little at the thought of his narrow es- 
cape. 

Jack took another long look around at the hills 
and valleys, but if Nolan was anywhere among 
them, the trees and underbrush hid him effectually. 
And Allan was loth to believe Jack’s theory; bad 
as Nolan was, it seemed incredible that he should 


SUMMONS IN THE NIGHT 131 


be so savage, so cold-blooded, as to lie there on the 
brink of the precipice, waiting, moment by moment, 
until his victim should be in the precise spot where 
the rock would strike him. That seemed too fiendish 
for belief. 

“ I wouldn’t like to think Nolan did it,” he said, 
a little hoarsely, “ unless I had some proof. You 
didn’t see him, you know — ” 

“ See him ! ” echoed Jack. “ No — I didn’t need 
to see him! There’s th’ hole th’ stone was pried 
out of, an’ there’s th’ rail that was used fer a lever. 
Now who had hold o’ that rail? Ain’t Nolan th’ 
only enemy you’ve got in th’ world ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Allan, in a low voice; “ yes, I be- 
lieve he is.” 

“ An’ do you suppose a feller would lay fer you 
like that unless he had somethin’ ag’in you? I tell 
you, Dan Nolan’s hidin’ down there in the bushes 
somewhere, an’ lookin’ up here at us an’ swearin’ 
because he didn’t git you ! ” and Jack shook his 
fist impatiently at the horizon. “ If I had him under 
my heel, I’d kill him like I would a snake ! ” 

Which, of course, Jack wouldn’t have done, but 


132 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


his honest Irish blood was boiling at this moment, 
and he said more than he meant. 

“ Come on, boys,” he added, calming himself by 
a mighty effort, “ we can’t ketch him now, but 
we’ll git th’ scoundrel yet ! ” and he started down the 
hill, a savage scowl still on his face. 

The incident had cast a shadow over the spirits of 
the gang, and they worked the rest of the afternoon 
in silence. Indeed, ever since Reddy’s accident, the 
gang had lacked that spirit of optimism and gaiety 
which had marked it ; a new man had 'been taken 
on, but while he did Reddy’s work fairly well, he 
could not take Reddy’s place in the hearts of the 
men. Their day’s work lacked the savour which 
Reddy’s wit had given it, and they went home at 
night more weary than had been their wont. Jack 
saw, too, that their work had lost some of its 
alacrity, and yet he had no heart to find fault with 
them. 

But he took no more chances of Allan’s suffering 
any treacherous injury. He had talked the matter 
over with his wife, and between them, they had 
laid out a plan of action. Whenever possible, Jack 


SUMMONS IN THE NIGHT 133 


kept Allan near him. When that was not possible, 
he took care that the boy should not be alone at 
any spot where his enemy could sneak up on him 
from behind. He knew if the boy was injured 
through any carelessness or lack of foresight on 
his part, he would never dare to go home again 
and face his wife! 

All of this was, of course, plain enough to Allan, 
and chafed him somewhat, for he did not want the 
rest of the gang to think him a baby who needed 
constant looking after. Besides, he had an honest 
reliance on his ability to look after himself. So, 
one day, he ventured to protest. 

“ See here, Jack,” he said, “ Fm not afraid of 
Dan Nolan. In fact, I think I'd be rather glad of 
the chance to meet him in a fair stand-up fight.” 

“ An’ that's just th' chance he'll never give ye,” 
retorted Jack. “ I wouldn't be afeerd o' him, either, 
if he’d fight fair — I believe y' could lick him. But 
he won't fight fair. Th’ coward’ll hit y’ from 
behind, if he kin — an’ he's waitin' his chance. 
That's his kind, as y' ought t’ know by this time. 
Oh, if I could only ketch him ! ” 


134 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


But since the afternoon that great rock had fallen, 
Nolan had utterly disappeared from his accustomed 
haunts. Jack made diligent inquiries, but could get 
no news of him. The gang of scalawags who were 
his usual companions professed to be utterly 
ignorant of his whereabouts. He had been sleeping 
in a little closet back of one of the low railroad 
saloons, paying for board and lodging by cleaning 
out the place every morning, but the proprietor of 
the place said he had not been near there for a week. 
So at last Jack dropped his inquiries, hoping against 
hope that Nolan had taken alarm and left the 
neighbourhood. 

Reddy continued to improve physically from day 
to day, but mentally he grew worse and worse. 
His broken arm had healed nicely, and the wound in 
his head was quite well, but the injury to the brain 
baffled all the skill of his physicians. He would 
sit around the house, moping, seemingly taking 
notice of nothing; then he would suddenly start 
up and walk rapidly away as though he had just 
remembered some important engagement. Fre- 
quently he would be gone all day, sometimes even 


SUMMONS IN THE NIGHT 135 


all night. He was rarely at home at meal-times, and 
yet he never seemed to be hungry. 

Mrs. Magraw could never find out from him 
where he spent all this time. He refused to answer 
her questions, until, seeing how they vexed him, she 
ceased from bothering him, and let him go his own 
way. Of her bitter hours of despair and weeping, 
she allowed him to see nothing, but tried always to 
present to him the same cheerful and smiling coun- 
tenance she had worn in the old days before his 
injury. In spite of this, he grew more and more 
morose, more and more difficult to get along with. 
The doctor advised that he be taken to an asylum, 
but the very word filled his wife with a nameless 
dread, and she prayed that he might be left in her 
care a little while longer. Perhaps he might grow 
better; at any rate, unless he grew worse, she 
could look after him. 

One morning, about a week after the attempt 
upon Allan’s life, he and Jack were working to- 
gether on the embankment by the river’s edge, 
when the foreman stopped suddenly, straightened 
himself, and, shading his eyes with his hand, gazed 


136 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


long and earnestly across the water. Allan, fol- 
lowing his look, saw two men sitting by a clump of 
willows, talking earnestly together. Their figures 
seemed familiar, but it was not until one of them 
leaped to his feet, waving his arms excitedly, that 
he recognized him as Reddy Magraw. 

“ Who is the other one ? ” he asked. 

“ It’s Dan Nolan,” said the foreman between his 
teeth. “ What deviltry d’ y’ suppose he’s puttin’ 
int’ that poor feller’s head ? ” 

Allan did not answer, but a strange foreboding 
fell upon him as he watched Reddy’s excited oratory. 
Then the two watchers saw Nolan suddenly pull 
Reddy down, and together they vanished behind 
the trees. 

What could it mean ? Allan asked himself. What 
villainy was Dan Nolan plotting? Was he trying 
to make poor, half-witted Reddy his instrument for 
the commission of some crime ? 

Jack, too, worked away in unaccustomed silence 
and unusual heaviness of heart, for he was asking 
himself the same questions. Something must be 
done; Reddy must not be led into any mischief; 


SUMMONS IN THE NIGHT 137 


and no influence which Nolan might gain over him 
could be anything but bad. It was like the coward 
to try to get another man to do what he himself 
shrank from doing. 

The morning passed and noon came, but neither 
Jack nor Allan had relish for their dinner — the 
incident of the morning had spoiled their appetites. 

“ We’ll have t’ look out after Reddy some way,” 
said Jack, at last, and then fell silent again. 

They were soon back at work, and Allan, busy 
with his thoughts, did not notice that the air grew 
chill and the sky overcast. 

“ The’ll be a storm t’-night,” observed Jack at 
last, looking around at the sky. 

“ ’Fore night,” said one of the workmen. “ We’ll 
be havin’ to quit work purty soon.” 

Even to an unpractised eye, the signs were un- 
mistakable. Down from the north great banks of 
black clouds were sweeping, and the wind felt 
strangely cold, even for the last days of October. 
At last came the swift patter of the rain, and then 
a swirl of great, soft, fleecy flakes. 

“ Snow ! ” cried Jack. “ Well, ’f I ever ! ” 


138 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


All stopped to watch the unaccustomed spectacle 
of snow in October. It fell thick and fast, the 
flakes meeting and joining in the air into big 
splotches of snow, which melted almost as soon as 
it touched the ground. Two of the men, who had 
been blotted from sight for a moment, came hurry- 
ing toward the others. 

“ We might as well quit,” said Jack. “ We can’t 
work this kind o’ weather;” and so they started 
homeward through the storm, an hour before the 
usual time. 

As the evening passed, the storm grew heavier 
and more violent. Looking out from the window 
after supper, Allan found that the whole world was 
shut from sight behind that swirling white curtain. 
From time to time he could hear the faint rumble 
of a train in the yards below, but no gleam of the 
engine’s headlight penetrated to him. 

“ It’s a bad night fer railroadin’,” Jack remarked, 
looking out beside him. “ A bad night. Th’ rails 
’r so slippy th’ wheels can’t grip ’em, an’ th’ engineer 
might as well shut his eyes fer all th’ good his 
headlight does him. An’ th’ brakeman — fancy 


SUMMONS IN THE NIGHT 139 


runnin’ along th’ two-foot path on the top of a train 
in a storm like this ! ” 

But trainmen cannot stop for wind or weather, 
darkness or stress of storm, and the trains rumbled 
in and out through the night, most of them behind 
time, to be sure, but feeling their way along as 
best they could, while up in the offices the despatch- 
es, with tense nerves and knitted brows, struggled 
to maintain order in the midst of chaos. The wires 
were working badly, every train on the road was 
behind the schedule; out at some of the little sta- 
tions, the operators, unused to the strain, were grow- 
ing nervous. The superintendent closed his desk 
with a bang, after dictating the last letter; but 
instead of going home, as usual, he stood around 
with his hands in his pockets, listening to the 
wildly clicking instruments, and chewing a cigar 
savagely. 

Allan lay for a long time that night listening to 
the trains, thinking of the wonderful system by 
which the great business was managed. He could 
understand, as yet, only a little of this system, and 
he was hungering to know more. Then the scene 


140 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


of the morning came back to him, and he tossed 
from side to side, thinking of it. Poor Reddy — 
yes, he needed looking after if Dan Nolan had 
got hold of him. Reddy’s mind was more that 
of a child than of a man at present. What an evil 
influence Dan might have over him if he cared to 
use it! 

At last sleep came ; but in an instant he was back 
again at the river bank* peering across at the 
figures on the other side. They were talking to- 
gether; they seemed to be quarrelling. Then, sud- 
denly, Nolan caught the other by the throat and 
hurled him backward over the bank into the water. 
Reddy sank with a wild cry; then his head re- 
appeared, and he caught a glimpse of the boy 
standing on the farther bank. 

“ Allan ! ” he cried, stretching out his arms im- 
ploringly. “ Allan ! ” 

Allan sat bolt upright, rubbing his eyes, straining 
his ears to hear the call again. 

“'Allan!” 

It was Jack’s voice, — he knew it now, — but the 
dawn was not peeping in at the window, as was 


SUMMONS IN THE NIGHT 141 


usual when Jack called him. He realized that the 
night had not yet passed. He caught a glimmer 
of yellow light under his door and heard Jack put- 
ting on his boots in the room below. 

Fully awake at last, he sprang out of bed and 
opened the door. 

“What is it?” he called down the stair. “Do 
you want me ? ” 

“ Yes. Hurry up,” answered Jack’s voice. 

Allan threw on his clothes with trembling hands, 
and hastened down-stairs. He found Jack already 
at table, eating hastily. 

“ Set down,” said the latter, “ an’ fill up. It’s 
mighty uncertain when ye’ll git another square 
meal.” 

“We’re going out?” asked the boy. “Then 
there’s a wreck ? ” 

“ Yes, a wreck — freight, near Vinton. Th’ 
caller jest come fer me. It’s so bad all th’ section- 
gangs on this end ’r ordered out. Eat all y’ kin. 
Better drink some coffee, too. Y’ll need it.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


CLEARING THE TRACK 

Allan did his best to force himself to eat, but the 
strangeness of the hour and the excitement of the 
promised adventure took all desire for food from 
him. He managed, however, to drink a cup of 
coffee, but his hands were trembling so with ex- 
citement he could scarcely hold the cup. It was 
a wreck, and a bad one. How terrible to lose a 
moment! He was eager to be off. But Jack knew 
from experience the value and need of food while it 
could be obtained, in view of what might be before 
them. 

“ It’ll take ’em some time t’ git’ th’ wreckin’ -train 
ready,” he said. “ Git our waterproofs, Mary.” 

But Mary had them waiting, as well as a lot of 
sandwiches. She had been through such scenes 
before. 


142 


CLEARING THE TRACK 143 


“ There, stuff your pockets full,” she said to 
Allan. “ You’ll want ’em.” 

Jack nodded assent, and took his share. 

“ And now, good-bye, Mary,” said Jack. “ No, 
don’t wake the baby. If we git back by t’-morrer 
night, we’ll be lucky. Come on, Allan.” 

The snow was still falling heavily as they left 
the house, and they made their way with some 
difficulty to the comer of the yards where the 
wrecking-train stood on its spur of siding. A score 
of section-men had already gathered, and more were 
coming up every minute. Nobody knew anything 
definite about the wreck — some one had heard that 
Bill Miller, the engineer, was hurt. It seemed they 
were taking a doctor along, for Allan saw his 
tall form in the uncertain light. And the train- 
master and division superintendent were with him, 
talking together in low tones. 

Jack began checking off his men as they came up 
and reported. 

An engine backed up and coupled on to the 
wrecking-train, and the men slowly clambered 


144 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 

aboard. The switch at the end of the siding was 
opened. 

“ How many men have you got, Welsh? ” asked 
Mr. Schofield, the train-master. 

“ Thirty-six, so far, sir.” 

“ All right. We’ll pick up the gangs on Twenty- 
three and four as we pass. Go ahead,” he shouted 
to the engineer. “ We’ve got a clear track to 
Vinton,” and he followed Allan and Jack up the 
steps into the car. 

There was a hiss of steam into the cylinders and 
the train pulled slowly out upon the main track, the 
wheels slipping over the rails at first, but gripping 
better as the train gathered headway and shot east- 
ward into the whirling snow. Operators, switch- 
men, station-agents, flagmen, all looked out to see 
it pass. It had only two cars — one, a long flat car 
loaded with ties and rails, piled with ropes and jacks 
and crowbars. At one end stood the heavy steel 
derrick, strong enough to lift even a great mogul 
of a freight-engine and swing it clear of the track. 

In the other car, which looked very much like an 
overgrown box-car, was the powerful donkey- 


CLEARING THE TRACK 145 


engine which worked the derrick, more tools, a 
cooking-stove, and a number of narrow cots. Two 
oil-lanterns swung from the roof, half-illuminating 
the faces of the men, who sat along the edges of the 
cots, talking together in low tones. 

At Byers, the section-gang from Twenty-three 
clambered aboard ; at Hamden came the gangs from 
Twenty-four and Twenty-five. Nearly sixty men 
were crowded together in the car; but there was 
little noise. It reminded Allan of a funeral. 

And it was a funeral. The great railroad, bind- 
ing East to West, was lying dead, its back broken, 
useless, its circulation stopped. The line was 
blocked, the track torn up — it was no longer warm, 
living, vital. It had been torn asunder. It was a 
mere useless mass of wood and steel. These men 
were hastening to resurrect it, to make it whole 
again. 

At McArthur the superintendent came aboard 
with a yellow paper in his hand, — the conductor's 
report of the accident, — and he and the train- 
master bent their heads together over it. The men 
watched them intently. 


146 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


“ Is it a bad one, sir? ” asked Jack at last. 

“ Bad enough,” answered the superintendent. 
“ It seems that first Ninety-eight broke in two on 
the grade just beyond Vinton. Track so slippery 
they couldn’t hold, and she ran back into the second 
section. They came together in the cut at the foot 
of the grade, and fifteen cars loaded with nut coal 
were wrecked. Miller seems the only one hurt, but 
the track’s torn up badly.” 

“ Nut coal ! ” said Jack, with a whistle. “ We’ve 
got our work cut out for us, boys.” 

The men nodded — they knew now what to 
expect. And they fell to talking together in low 
tones, telling stories of past wrecks, of feats of en- 
durance in the breathless battle which always fol- 
lows when this leviathan of steel is torn asunder. 
But the superintendent had used one word which 
Allan had not wholly understood, and he took the 
first opportunity to ask Jack about it. 

“ What did Mr. Heywood mean, Jack,” he in- 
quired, “ when he said the train broke in two? ” 

“ That's so,” and Jack laughed. “ It’s your first 
one — I’d forgot that. I wish it was mine,” and 


CLEARING THE TRACK 147 


he forthwith explained just how the accident had 
probably happened. 

A “ break-in-two ” occurs usually as a train is 
topping a heavy grade. The unusual strain breaks 
a coupling-pin or pulls out a draw-bar, and the 
portion of the train released from the engine goes 
whirling back down the grade, carrying death and 
destruction with it, unless the crew can set the 
brakes and get it stopped. Or, on a down-grade, 
a coupling-pin jumps out and then the two sections 
come together with a crash, unless the engineer 
sees the danger in time, and runs away at full speed 
from the pursuing section. It is only freights that 
“ break in two,” for passenger couplings are made 
heavy enough to withstand any strain ; besides, the 
moment a passenger-train parts, the air-brakes 
automatically stop both sections. But to freight 
crews there is no danger more menacing than the 
“ break-in-two,” although, happily, this danger is 
gradually growing less and less, with the introduc- 
tion of air-brakes on freight-cars as well as passen- 
ger. 

Freight-trains, when traffic is heavy, are usually 


148 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


run in sections, with as many cars to each section 
as an engine can handle. The sections are run as 
close together as they can be with safety, and, in 
railroad parlance, the first section of Freight-train 
Ninety-eight, for instance, is known as “ first 
Ninety-eight ” ; the second section as “ second 
Ninety-eight,” and so on. 

In this instance, the first section of Train Ninety- 
eight had broken in two at the top of a long grade, 
and fifteen coal-cars, together with the caboose, had 
gone hurtling back down the grade, finally crashing 
into the front end of the second section, which was 
following about a mile behind. The conductor and 
brakemen, who were in the caboose, after a vain 
attempt to stop the runaway cars with the hand- 
brakes, had jumped off, and escaped with slight 
bruises, but the engineer and fireman of the second 
section had had no warning of their danger until 
the cars swept down upon them out of the storm. 
There was no time to jump — it would have been 
folly to jump, anyhow, since the high walls of the 
cut shut them in on either side ; yet the fireman had 
escaped almost unhurt, only the engineer being 


CLEARING THE TRACK 149 


badly injured. The impact of the collision had been 
terrific, and, as the telegram from the conductor 
stated, fifteen cars had been completely wrecked. 

So much the section-men understood from the 
superintendent’s brief description, and Jack ex- 
plained it to Allan, while the others listened, putting 
in a word of correction now and then. 

On and on sped the wrecking-train through the 
night. The oil-lamps flared and flickered, throw- 
ing a yellow, feeble light down into the car, where 
the men sat crowded together, for the most part 
silent now, figuring on the task before them. It was 
evident that it would be no easy one, but they had 
confidence in their officers, — the same confidence 
that soldiers have in a general whose ability has 
been fully tested, — and they knew that the task 
would be made as easy as might be. 

The atmosphere of the car grew close to suffo- 
cation. Every one, almost, wlas smoking, and the 
lamps soon glowed dimly through the smoke like 
the sun upon a foggy day. Outside, the snow still 
fell, thickly, softly; their engineer could not see 
the track twenty feet ahead ; but the superintendent 


150 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


had told him that the way was clear, so he kept his 
throttle open and plunged blindly on into the night, 
for every moment was valuable now; every nerve 
must be strained to the utmost tension until the task 
of clearing the track had been accomplished. 

So the fireman bent steadily to the work of keeping 
up steam, clanging the door of the fire-box back 
and forth between each shovelful of coal, in order 
to keep the draught full strength. The flames licked 
out at him each time the door was opened, lighting 
the cab with yellow gleams, which danced across 
the polished metal and illumined dimly the silent 
figure of the engineer peering forward into the 
storm. The engine rocked and swayed, the wind 
swirled and howled about it, and tried to hold it 
back, but on and on it plunged, never pausing, never 
slackening. Any one who was on the track to-night 
must look out for himself; but, luckily, the right 
of way was clear, crossing after crossing was passed 
without accident ; the train tore through little ham- 
lets, awakening strange echoes among the darkened 
houses, and, as it passed, the operator would run out 
to look at it, and, after a single glance, would rush 


CLEARING THE TRACK 151 


back to his key, call frantically for “ G I,” — the 
despatched office, — and tick in the message that 
the wrecking- train had got that far on its journey. 

Back in the wrecking-car the superintendent had 
taken out his watch and sat with it a moment in his 
hand. 

“ We're going a mile a minute," he remarked to 
the train-master. “ Higgins is certainly hitting 
her up." 

The train-master nodded and turned again to the 
conductor's report. He was planning every detail 
of the battle which must be fought. 

Jack glanced at Allan, and smiled. 

“ You're wonderin’ how he could tell how fast 
we’re going, ain’t ye ? " he asked. 

“ Yes," said Allan, “ I am. How did he tell? " 

“ By listenin' t’ th' click o' th' wheels over th' 
rails," answered Jack. “ Each rail's thirty foot 
long — that is, there’s a hundred an’ seventy-six 
to th' mile. Mister Heywood probably kept tab 
on them fer fifteen seconds and counted forty-four 
clicks, so he knowed we was goin' a mile a minute." 

“ Here we are," remarked the train-master, as the 


152 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


wheels clanked over a switch, and, sure enough, a 
moment later their speed began to slacken. 

Jack looked down at Allan and grinned again, 
as he saw the astonishment written on the boy’s 
face. 

“ You’re wonderin’ how Mr. Schofield could tell 
that, ain’t you?” he asked. “Why, bless you, 
he knows this here division like a book. Put him 
down on any part of it blindfolded and he’ll tell you 
right where he is. He knows every foot of it.” 

Perhaps Jack exaggerated unconsciously, but there 
was no doubt that Mr. Schofield, like every other 
good train-master, knew his division thoroughly — 
the location of every switch, the length of every 
siding, the position of every signal, the capacity of 
every engine. Nay, more, he knew the disposition 
of every conductor and engineer. When Milliken, 
for instance, wired in a protest that he couldn’t take 
another load, he would smile placidly and repeat his 
previous orders; if Rogers made the same com- 
plaint, he would wire back tersely, “ All right.” 
He knew that Milliken was always complaining, 
while Rogers never did without cause. He knew 


CLEARING THE TRACK 153 


his track, his equipment, and his men — and that is, 
no doubt, the reason why, to-day, he is superintend- 
ent of one of the most important divisions of the 
system. 

The wrecking-train slowed and stopped, and the 
men clambered painfully to the ground, and went 
forward to take a look at the task before them. It 
was evident in a moment that it was a bigger one 
than any had anticipated — so big, indeed, that it 
seemed to Allan, at least, that it would be far easier 
to build a new track around the place than to try to 
open the old one. From side to side of the deep cut, 
even with the top, the coal was heaped, mixed with 
splintered boards and twisted iron that had once 
been freight-cars. High on the bank perched the 
engine, thrown there by the mighty blow that had 
been dealt it. On either side were broken and 
splintered cars, and the track was torn and twisted 
in a way that seemed almost beyond repair. It 
was a scene of chaos such as the boy had never be- 
fore witnessed, and even the old, tried section-men 
were staggered when they looked at it. It seemed 
impossible that anything so puny as mere human 


154 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


strength could make any impression upon that 
tangled, twisted mass. 

The doctor hurried away to attend to the injured 
engineer, who had been removed to the caboose by 
the crew of the second section, while the officers went 
forward to look over the battle-field. At the end 
of three minutes they had prepared their plan of 
action, and the men responded with feverish energy. 
Great cables were run out and fastened to the shat- 
tered frames of the coal-cars, which were dragged 
out of the mass of wreckage by the engine, and then 
hoisted from the track and thrown to one side out 
of the way. The donkey-engine puffed noisily away, 
while the derrick gripped trucks and wheels and 
masses of twisted iron and splintered beams, and 
swung them high on the bank beside the road with 
an ease almost superhuman. The men went to work 
with a will, under the supervision of the officers, 
dragging out the smaller pieces of wreckage. 
Hour after hour they toiled, until, at last, only 
the coal remained — a great, shifting, treacherous 
mass — ton upon ton — fifteen car-loads — a veri- 
table mountain of coal. And here the derrick could 


CLEARING THE TRACK 155 


be of no use — there was only one way to deal with 
it. It must be shovelled from the track by hand! 

It was a task beside which the labours of Her- 
cules seemed small by comparison. But no one 
stopped to think about its enormousness — it had to 
be done, and done as quickly as possible. In a few 
moments, sixty shovels were attacking the mighty 
mass, rising and falling with a dogged persistence 
which, in the end, must conquer any obstacle. 

Dawn found the men at this trying work. At 
seven o’clock hot coffee and sandwiches were served 
out to them, and they stopped work for ten min- 
utes to swallow the food. At eight, a cold rain be- 
gan to fall, that froze into sleet upon the ground, 
so that the men could scarcely stand. Still they 
laboured doggedly on. Train-master and superin- 
tendent were everywhere, encouraging the men, 
making certain that not a blow was wasted, them- 
selves taking a hand now and then, with pick or 
shovel. There was no thought of rest; human 
nature must be pushed to its utmost limit of en- 
durance — this great leviathan of steel and oak must 
be made whole again. All along its two hundred 


156 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


miles of track, passengers were waiting, fuming, 
impatient to reach their destinations; thousands 
of tons of freight filled the sidings, waiting the 
word that would permit it to go forward. Here 
in the hills, with scarcely a house in sight, was 
the wound that stretched the whole system powerless 
— that kept business men from their engagements, 
wives from husbands, that deranged the plans of 
hundreds ; ay, more than that, it was keeping food 
from the hungry, the ice was melting in refrigerator- 
cars, peaches and apples were spoiling in hot crates, 
cattle were panting with thirst, — all waiting upon 
the labours of this little army, which was fighting so 
valiantly to set things right. 


CHAPTER XII. 

UNSUNG HEROES 

Allan laboured savagely with the others. One 
thought sang in his brain, keeping time to the steady 
rise and fall of the shovels : “ The track must be 
cleared; the track must be cleared.” The great 
pile of coal before him took on a hideous and threat- 
ening personality — it was a dragon, with its claws 
at the road’s throat. It must be conquered — must 
be dragged away. From time to time he stopped a 
moment to munch one of the sandwiches, not 
noticing the dirt and coal-dust that settled upon it. 
He was not hungry, but he felt instinctively that he 
must eat the food. 

Most of the other men were chewing tobacco, 
their jaws working convulsively in unison with 
their arms. They had long since ceased to be 
human beings — they had become machines. Their 


*57 


158 THE YOUNG SECTION - HAND 


movements were precise, automatic, regular. Their 
faces grew gradually black and blacker in the per- 
petual dust which arose from the coal; their eyes 
became rimmed with black, and bloodshot under the 
constant irritation of the dust. They breathed it in, 
swallowed it, absorbed it. Their sense of smell and 
taste gradually left them — or, at least, they could 
smell and taste only one thing, coal-dust. They 
ceased to resemble men; one coming upon them 
unawares would have taken them for some horrible 
group from Dante’s inferno, doing terrible pen- 
ance through eternity. They looked neither to the 
right nor left ; their eyes were always on the coal — 
on this shifting black monster with which they were 
doing battle. Their hands seemed welded to the 
shovels, which rose and fell, rose and fell. 

The cold rain beat in sheets around them, soak- 
ing their clothes, and yet they scarcely felt this added 
discomfort, so intent were they upon the task before 
them. Most of them had thrown off their coats at 
the beginning of the struggle, and now their wet 
shirts stuck tightly to their skins, showing every 
muscle. Gradually, by almost imperceptible degrees, 


UNSUNG HEROES 


159 


the pile of coal on the banks of the cut grew higher ; 
gradually the pile on the track grew less, but so 
slowly that it was agonizing. 

Above them on the bank, the great locomotive, 
hurled there and turned completely around by the 
force of the collision, stood a grim sentinel. It was 
the one piece of luck, the officers told themselves, 
in connection with this wreck, that the engine had 
been tossed there out of the way. To have raised 
it from the track and placed it there would have 
taken hours, and every minute was so precious! 
It would take hours to get it down again, but that 
need not be done until the track was clear. 

Toward the middle of the morning, three fresh 
gangs of men came from the east and fell to work 
beside the others. But the others did not think of 
stopping. Instead, with staring eyes and tight-set 
teeth, they worked a little harder, to keep pace with 
the freshness and vigour of the newcomers. Ninety 
shovels were hurling the coal aside, digging into 
it, eating it away. Here, there, and everywhere the 
officials went, seeing that every stroke told, that 
not an ounce of energy was wasted, taking a hand 


160 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


themselves, driving themselves as hard as any of the 
men. Soon the coal was heaped so high along the 
sides of the cut that a force was put to work throw- 
ing it farther back. Almost all of it had to be 
handled twice! 

Noon came — a dark noon without a sun ; a noon 
marked by no hour of rest for these toilers. Back 
in the wrecking-car a great boiler of coffee steamed 
and bubbled ; the cook carried pails of it among the 
men, who paused only long enough to swallow a big 
dipperful. Even Allan, who had no taste for it, 
drank deep and long, and he was astonished at the 
flood of warm vigour it seemed to send through 
him. Every half-hour this coffee was passed around, 
strong and black and stimulating. It was a stimu- 
lation for which the men would pay later on in 
limp reaction, but it did its work now. 

Experience had proved that no other means was 
so good as this to sustain men against fatigue, hour 
after hour, and to drive away sleep from the brain. 
Time was when the railroad company had experi- 
mented with other stimulants, but they had long 
since been discarded. 


UNSUNG HEROES 


161 


Still the rain descended, and a biting wind from 
the north turned the weather steadily colder and 
colder. A sheet of sleet formed over the coal, weld- 
ing it into a solid mass, which required the vigor- 
ous use of picks to dislodge. The men slipped and 
stumbled, gasping with exhaustion, but still the 
shovels rose and fell. Here and there, the twisted 
and broken track began to appear. 

At the side of the track the train-master called 
a lineman, who carried a wire up a pole and attached 
it to one of the wires overhead. A telegraph 
instrument was connected with this, and, sitting 
down upon the bank, the train-master ticked in 
to headquarters the news that the track would be 
clear at midnight, and repaired six hours later. 

In this, as in everything, the train-master knew 
his men. Ten minutes before midnight the last 
shovelful of coal was out of the way, — the track 
was clear, — one part of the battle had been won. 
But another part yet remained to fight, — the track 
must be rebuilt, and the work of doing it began 
without a moment’s delay. The twisted rails and 
splintered ties were wrenched out of the way; the 


162 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


road-bed, which had been ploughed up by the wheels 
of the derailed cars, was hastily levelled. From the 
wrecking-car gangs of men staggered under new 
ties and rails, which were piled along beside the track 
where they would be needed. 

At last the road-bed was fairly level again, and 
ties were laid with feverish energy by the light of the 
flaring torches, which gave the scene a weirdness 
which it had lacked by day. Phantoms of men 
moved back and forth, now disappearing in the dark- 
ness, now leaping into view again, working dog- 
gedly on, to their very last ounce of strength and 
endurance. 

As the ties were got into place, the rails were 
spiked down upon them and fish-plates were bolted 
into place. Rod after rod they advanced, tugging, 
hammering, with the energy of desperation. It was 
no question now of a perfect road-bed — rail must 
be joined to rail so that once more the red blood of 
commerce could be pumped along the artery they 
formed. After that there would be time for the 
fine points. And just as the sun peeped over the 


UNSUNG HEROES 


163 


eastern hills, the last spike was driven, the last 
bolt tightened. The work was done. 

The men cheered wildly, savagely, their voices 
hoarse and unnatural. Then they gathered up their 
tools, staggered to the car, and fell exhausted on 
bunk or chair or floor, and went instantly to sleep. 
Allan found afterward that he had no memory 
whatever of those last trying hours. 

At the side of the road the train-master was 
ticking off a message which told that his promise 
was kept, — a message which sent a thrill of life 
along the line from end to end, — which told that 
the road was clear. Then he cut loose his instru- 
ment, and he and the superintendent walked back 
to the car together. They were no longer the 
trim, good-looking men of every day — they were 
haggard, gaunt, unshaven. Their eyes were blood- 
shot, their clothing soiled and torn. They had 
not spared themselves. For thirty-six hours they 
had been working without so much as lifting their 
hats from their heads. But they had won the battle 
— as they had won many others like it, though few 
quite so desperate. 


164 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


On either side the track was piled a mass of 
twisted wreckage; the engine still lay high on the 
bank. That could wait. Another crew could haul 
the engine down and gather up the debris, for the 
track was open. 

The journey back took longer than the journey 
out. At every siding they headed in to let pas- 
senger and freight whirl past ; the blood was 
bounding now, trying to make up for the time it 
had been stopped. But the men lying in the car 
saw none of them ; the roar of their passage did not 
awaken them — they knew not whether the trip back 
took two hours or ten — they were deaf, blind, 
dead with fatigue. Only at the journey’s end were 
they awakened, and it was no easy task. But at 
last they had all arisen, gaunt shadows of their 
former selves. 

“ Boys,” said the superintendent, “ I want to tell 
you that I’ve never seen a wreck handled as well 
as you handled this one. You did great work, 
and I’m proud of you. Now go home and go to 
sleep, — sleep twenty- four hours if you can. Don’t 


UNSUNG HEROES 


165 


report for duty till to-morrow. And I promise 
you I won’t forget this night’s work.” 

They staggered away through the curious crowd 
at the station, seeing nothing, turning instinctively 
in the direction of their homes. 

“ Why,” remarked one white-haired man, gaz- 
ing after them, “ they look just as we looked after 
we got through the Wilderness. They look like 
they’ve been under fire for a week.” 

The superintendent, passing, heard the remark. 

“ They have,” he answered, dryly. “ They’ve 
been under the heaviest kind of fire continuously 
for thirty-six hours. You fellows have had whole 
libraries written about you, and about a thousand 
monuments built to you. You get a pension while 
you live, and your grave is decorated when you die. 
I’m not saying you don’t deserve it all, for I believe 
you do. But there’s some other people in the world 
who deserve honour and glory, too, — section-men, 
for instance. I never heard of anybody building 
a monument to them, or calling them heroes ; and, 
if there are any flowers on their graves, it’s their 
families put them there ! ” 


166 THE YOUNG SECTION - HAND 


He passed on, while his auditor stared open- 
mouthed, not knowing whether to be moved or 
angry. The superintendent’s nerves were shaken 
somewhat, or he might have spoken less bitterly; 
but a sudden sharp sense of the world’s injustice 
had clamoured for utterance. 

And the wrecking-train was run in again on the 
siding, ready for the next trip. 

The men, of course, paid the penalty for their 
almost superhuman exertions. No men could work 
as they had done and not feel the after-effects in 
diminished vitality. The younger ones among 
them soon recovered, for youth has a wonderful 
power of recuperation; the older ones were a little 
more bent, a little more gnarled and withered, a 
little nearer the end of the journey. They had sac- 
rificed themselves on the altar of the great system 
which they served; they had done so without a 
murmur, with no thought of shirking or holding 
back. They would do so again without an instant’s 
hesitation whenever duty called them. For that 
was their life-work, to which they were dedicated 
with a simple, unquestioning devotion. There was 


UNSUNG HEROES 


167 


something touching about it, — something grand 
and noble, too, — just as there is in a man dedicat- 
ing himself to any work, whether to conquer the 
world with Napoleon, or to keep clean a stretch of 
street pavement committed to his care. It was this 
dedication, this singleness of purpose — this serf- 
dom to the road — which Allan grew to under- 
stand more and more deeply, and to glory in. 

And it was not an unworthy service, for the 
road was worth devotion. Not the company of 
capitalists, who sat in an office somewhere in the 
East and manipulated its stocks and bonds, but 
the road itself, — this thing of steel and oak which 
had rendered possible the development of the coun- 
try, which had added fabulously to its wealth, which 
bound together its widely separated States into one 
indivisible Union. They were servants of the force 
which, more than any other, has made our modern 
civilization possible. 

Let me add that the story of this wreck is no 
imaginary one. It is a true story which actually 
occurred just as it is set down here; it is an ex- 
perience which repeats itself over and over again 


168 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


in the life of every railroad man; it was a battle 
which, in one form or another, railroad men are 
always fighting, and always winning. And, more 
than most battles, is it worth winning! 


CHAPTER XIII. 


A NEW DANGER 

There is a superstition among railroad men 
which, strangely enough, is seemingly warranted by 
experience, that when one wreck occurs, two more 
are certain to follow. And, sure enough, two more 
did follow, though neither was so serious as the 
one at Vinton; which, indeed, still lives in the 
memories of those who helped clear it away as the 
worst that ever happened on the division. 

Not so serious, that is, in delaying the traffic 
of the road, but more serious in another way, since 
both entailed loss of life. The first one occurred 
just three days after the wreck at Vinton. A 
freight-train had taken a siding about five miles 
east of Wadsworth to allow the through east-bound 
express to pass, but the brakeman on the freight, 
who was a green hand, forgot to throw the switch 
169 


170 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


back again after the freight-train had backed in 
upon the siding. He climbed up into the cab, and 
he and the engineer and fireman sat there chatting 
away, all unconscious of the impending disaster. 
In a moment, they heard the roar of the approach- 
ing train, and then it flashed into view far down 
the track. They turned to watch it, to admire the 
clean lines of the engine as it whirled toward them ; 
then, as it reached the switch, they were horrified to 
see it turn in upon the siding. There was no time 
to move, to cry out, to attempt to save themselves. 
An instant of horrified suspense, and the crash 
came, and the two engines, together with the cars 
immediately behind them, were piled together into 
a torn and twisted mass of wreckage, — wreckage 
through which blistering steam hissed and about 
which in a moment hungry flames began to lap, 
— wreckage from which no man came forth alive. 
But, as the accident occurred upon a siding, the 
main track was not even blocked, and the wreckage 
was cleared away without the feverish haste which 
marked the wreck at Vinton. 

The third wreck occurred at Torch, a little sta- 


A NEW DANGER 


171 


tion on the east end of the road, when both engi- 
neer and fireman of an east-bound freight-train 
forgot their orders to take the siding there, to make 
way for the west-bound flier, and continued on 
full speed past the station. The conductor recog- 
nized the error at once, but he was away back in 
the caboose at the other end of the train. He sent 
a brakeman flying forward over the cars to warn 
the engineer of his danger, but, before he had got 
forward half the length of the train, the express 
hurtled down upon them, and both engineer and 
fireman paid for their forgetfulness with their 
lives. This wreck was so far east that it was han- 
dled from Parkersburg, and the gang from Section 
Twenty-one was not called out. 

This series of accidents impressed deeply upon 
Allan’s mind the terrible peculiarity which belongs 
to railroading. In most of life’s ordinary occu- 
pations, a mistake may be retrieved; on the rail- 
road, almost never. To make a mistake there is, 
almost inevitably, to sacrifice life and property. 
The railroad man who makes a mistake never has 
the chance to make a second one. If he survives 


172 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 

the first one, his dismissal from the road’s employ 
will follow. Mistakes on a railroad are too ex- 
pensive to risk them by employing careless men. 

The employes of the road breathed easier after 
the accident at Torch. Until the fatal three had 
occurred, every man feared that his turn would 
come next; now' they knew that they were safe 
until another series was started. Whether it was 
from the increased self-confidence and self-control 
which this belief engendered, or whether there really 
was some basis for this railroad superstition, at any 
rate, no more accidents occurred, and the road’s 
operation proceeded smoothly and uneventfully. 

One exciting battle there was in late September. 
The fall rains had been unusually heavy and per- 
sistent; every little brook became a roaring tor- 
rent, loosening bridges and culverts, seeping under 
the road-bed, and demanding constant vigilance on 
the part of the section-gangs. As the rain con- 
tinued without abating, the broad river, which 
usually flowed peacefully along far below the rail- 
road embankment, rose foot by foot until the whole 
stretch of embankment along the river’s edge was 


A NEW DANGER 


173 


threatened. Long trains of flat cars were hurried 
to the place, loaded with rock and bags of sand. 
These were dumped along the embankment, which 
was washing badly in places, and for a time it 
looked as though the encroachments of the water 
had been stopped. But the rain continued, and the 
river kept on rising, until it was seeping along the 
top of the embankment. If it once began to flow 
over it, nothing could save the track, for the water 
would slice away the earth beneath it in great sec- 
tions. 

All the men that could be spared from the other 
portions of the road had been hurried to the scene. 
At the gravel-pit just below the city, a gang of 
fifty men was working, filling heavy sacks and load- 
ing them on flat cars. A great steam-shovel was 
heaping the loose gravel upon other cars, and, as 
soon as enough were loaded to make a train, they 
were hurried away to the danger point. During 
that culminating day, no effort was made to preserve 
the train schedule. The work-trains were given the 
right of way, and even the lordly east-bound pas- 
sengers had to flag through from the embankment 


174 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


to the gravel-pit. Train-master and superintendent 
were on the spot, directing where the gravel should 
be dumped, and watching anxiously the gauge 
which marked the rise of the water. Another inch 
and it would be over the embankment. 

But from the last inspection of the gauge Mr. 
Schofield arose with a shout of triumph. 

“ It’s no higher than it was half an hour ago,” 
he said. “ It hasn’t risen a hair’s breadth. It’ll 
begin to fall before long. We’re all right if we can 
only make the embankment hold.” 

Hope put new life into the men, and they worked 
like beavers; but whether the embankment could 
withstand much longer the tremendous pressure of 
the water against it seemed exceedingly doubtful. 
The whole length of the river seemed to be con- 
centrating its strength to push against this one 
spot. Allan, as he paused to look up the muddy 
current, almost imagined that the water was rush- 
ing toward the embankment with the deliberate 
purpose of overwhelming it. The debris which 
the broad current hurried along told of the damage 
it was doing in other places. Lordly trees had 


A NEW DANGER 


175 


been uprooted, outbuildings carried away, stock 
drowned, fertile bottom land covered with gravel 
and rendered worthless, — but all this seemed trivial 
to the boy beside the danger which threatened the 
road. He could guess how long it would take to 
rebuild this great stretch of embankment, should 
it be swept away. For weeks and months, the sys- 
tem must lay powerless, lifeless, disrupted. 

Mr. Schofield bent over the gauge again and 
looked at it. 

“ She’s going down, boys ! ” he cried, rising 
with beaming face. “ She gone down half an inch. 
We’re going to win this fight ! ” 

But how slowly the water receded! It seemed 
to Allan, at times, that it was rising again; but 
the crest of the flood had passed, and by the next 
day the danger was quite over. The embankment 
had to be rebuilt where it had been badly washed; 
and it was rebuilt more strongly than ever, and 
guarded by a wall of riprap, but never for an hour 
was the traffic of the road interrupted. 

So October passed and November came. Al- 
ways there was the track demanding attention, — 


176 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


an endless round of work which would never be 
completed. Always there were the trains rushing 
over it in endless procession, — the luxurious Lim- 
ited, sending every other train headlong into a sid- 
ing out of the way ; the slower “ accommodation,” 
which stops at every station along the road and is 
very popular with the farmers and dwellers at cross- 
roads ; the big through freight, drawn by a mighty 
giant of an engine, hauling two thousand tons of 
grain or beef or coal to the great Eastern market. 

And the through freight is the greatest of them 
all, for it is the money-maker. The Limited, glit- 
tering with polished brass and rare woods and plate- 
glass, is for show, — for style. It makes the road 
a reputation. It figures always in the advertise- 
ments in big type and on the back of folder and 
time-table in gorgeous lithograph. Its passengers 
look out with aversion at the dingy, ugly freight, 
standing on the siding, waiting for it to pass. But 
it is the freight that is meat and drink to the road ; 
it enables it to keep out of the receiver’s hands, and 
sometimes even to pay dividends. 

For Allan, the days passed happily, for one seri- 


A NEW DANGER 177 

ous cloud was lifted from his life. Dan Nolan 
had disappeared. He had not been seen for weeks, 
and every one hoped that he would never be seen 
in that neighbourhood again. Jack had taken good 
care to spread the story of the fallen rock, and 
Nolan was wise to keep out of the trainmen’s 
way. 

“ He thinks I saw him that day,” remarked the 
foreman, “ an’ he’s afeard of a term in th’ peniten- 
tiary. Well, he’ll git it; if not here, somewheres 
else.” 

One trouble still remained, for Reddy showed 
no sign of improvement. His aversion to all his 
old friends seemed rather to increase, and he would 
wander away for days at a time. With this devel- 
opment of vagrant habits, he fell naturally in with 
other vagrants; played cards with them under the 
big coal-chute, rode with them in empty box-cars, — 
in a word, degenerated utterly from the happy, 
industrious Reddy of other days. Still, he showed 
no disposition to harm any one, so his friends 
deemed it best to let him go his way, hoping against 
hope that time might work a cure. His wife had 


178 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


been given the position of janitress of the depot 
building, and so provided for the family. 

Physically, Allan had never been in such splen- 
did condition. Constant work in the open air had 
hardened his muscles and tanned his face; he was 
lean and hard, his eyes clear, his nerves steady. 
He was always ready for his bed at night, and 
always ready for his work in the morning. He 
felt within himself an abounding health and vital- 
ity, that brought him near to nature, and made 
him love her great winds and tempests. The only 
things he missed were the books to which he had 
always been accustomed. He was usually too tired 
in the evening to do more than read the newspaper ; 
but he was gaining for himself a first-hand experi- 
ence of life more valuable than any reflection of 
it he could have caught from the printed page. 
The foundations of his education had been well 
laid; now he was laying the foundations of ex- 
perience. Somehow, for the time being, books 
seemed to him strangely useless and artificial. He 
was drinking deep of life itself. 

And as the days passed, Allan grew to know the 


A NEW DANGER 179 

trainmen better. He was admitted to the free- 
masonry of their fellowship, and sat with them 
often in the evenings at roundhouse or yardmas- 
ter’s office, listening to their yarns, which had a 
strange fascination for him. It was at the round- 
house that engineers and firemen met, summoned 
by the caller to take their engines out; at the yard- 
master’s office, conductors and brakemen reported. 
And the boy found all of them alike prepared for 
what might befall, ready, instinctively, without 
second thought, to risk their lives to save the com- 
pany’s property or to protect the passengers en- 
trusted to their care. 

A great admiration for these men grew into his 
heart. They were like soldiers, ready at a moment’s 
notice to advance under fire, — only here there 
was not the wild exhilaration of battle, of charge 
and sortie, but only a long, cold looking of danger 
in the face. 

Even the humblest of them had his heroisms, as 
the boy found out one night ; for, surely, none was 
humbler than Bill Griffith, the lame crossing-flag- 
man. It was at the roundhouse one evening that 


180 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


Allan chanced to ask how Bill lost his leg. 
“ Tookey ” Morton — the oldest engineer on the 
road — who had just come in to report, turned 
around at the question. 

“ He’s lost both legs, my boy,” he said. “ He’s 
wood on both sides from the knee down, only you 
can’t see it because his pant-legs hide it. Ten years 
ago, Bill was one of the best engineers on this road. 
He had the old Ninety-six, — you remember her, 
boys, — one of them old passenger-engines, built 
too light for the business. Well, one night Bill was 
spinnin’ down the grade at Loveland when the side- 
rod on his side broke, and in about half a second 
had whipped the cab to pieces and smashed both 
BilFs legs. His fireman, who was green, jumped 
at the first crash; so what did Bill do but get up 
on the stumps of his legs and walk to the throttle 
and shut her off. They found him layin’ on what 
was left of the deck, and thought he was dead. 
But he pulled through, and was given that billet 
at the crossin’. And there ain’t a man, woman, 
or child has been hurt there since he’s had it.” 

The section-men were soon to have their hours 


A NEW DANGER 


181 


of danger, too, for the road was falling among 
troublesome times. The first wind of it came in 
an order to all employes issued from general head- 
quarters. 

Jack stuck a copy of it on the order-hook on 
the wall of the section-shanty, and then read it 
over again with a very dark face. Thus it ran : 

“ NOTICE TO EMPLOYES, ALL DE- 
PARTMENTS 

“ The police department of this road has just 
been reorganized, and all employes are hereby 
directed to aid it in every possible way in keeping 
all trains, freight and passenger, free from tramps. 
This nuisance has grown to such proportions that 
it must be checked. Trainmen discovered permit- 
ting tramps to ride on their trains will be summarily 
discharged. Section-men will see that no fires are 
built by tramps on the right of way, and that they 
do not linger on railroad property. 

“ [Signed] A. G. Round, 

“ Supt. and Gen. Manager. 


“ Cincinnati , Ohio , November 14.” 


182 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


“ That means trouble,” said Jack, “ if they try 
t’ carry it out,” and turned away to his work with- 
out further comment. 

But that night in the yardmaster’s office Allan 
heard the order discussed with freedom and much 
emphasis. 

“ We can’t deny,” said one man, “ that th’ ho- 
boes have been robbin’ th’ road right an’ left, but 
y/hat kin we do? Try t’ put ’em off an’ git a bullet 
through us or a knife in us?” 

“ It’s put ’em off or git fired,” remarked another, 
grimly. 

“ The road couldn’t stand it any longer,” re- 
marked the yardmaster. “ Car after car has come 
into the yards here broken open and any amount 
of stuff missing. It’s been costing the road a 
pretty figure to straighten things out with the 
shippers.” 

“ The tramps get in out here at the heavy grade 
just east of Byers,” remarked a conductor. “ Those 
fool despatchers load us up so heavy that we can’t 
make more than six or eight miles an hour up 
that grade, — sometimes we stick and have to 


A NEW DANGER 


183 


double over. Well, the tramps lay for us there 
every night, and, while we’re crawling along, or 
maybe cutting the train in two to double, they pick 
out a likely looking car of merchandise, break it 
open, hunt around inside, and throw off what they 
want, and then drop off themselves. We don’t even 
know the seals are broken until we get into the 
yards here.” 

“ There’s a dozen other places on the road just 
as bad,” said the yardmaster. 

“ But how’s a feller t’ know what’s goin’ on 
inside a car ? ” queried a brakeman, sarcastically. 
“ That’s what I’d like to be told.” 

“ Well,” retorted the yardmaster, “ I guess the 
superintendent will tell you quick enough, if he ever 
gets you on the carpet.” 

The brakeman snorted skeptically. 

“ I dunno,” he said. “ I guess th’ whole thing’s 
jest a bluff, anyway.” 

But trainmen and tramps alike soon found out 
that the management of the road was in deadly 
earnest. The force of police had been strongly rein- 
forced. Tramps were summarily thrown off the 


184 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


trains. When they showed fight, as they often did 
at first, they were promptly arrested, arraigned be- 
fore the nearest police justice, and given a term in 
the workhouse. 

To be sure, all this was not accomplished without 
some cost. One detective was shot through the head 
and killed, and many others had escapes more or 
less narrow, but the tramps soon lost their boldness. 
They no longer broke open freight-cars at will and 
helped themselves to their contents, or rode from 
place to place as their fancy dictated. But they took 
their revenge in other ways. 

One night an extra west-bound freight ran 
through an open switch at Greenfield and crashed 
into the freight-house. An investigation showed 
that the switch-lock had been broken, and the switch 
thrown. A night watchman on Section Twenty- 
eight found a big pile of ties on the track, and 
stopped another freight just in time to prevent a 
wreck. 

Ugly rumours were flying about of the tramps’ 
intentions, and it was at this juncture that another 
order came from headquarters. It ran : 


A NEW DANGER 


185 


“ NOTICE TO SECTION - FOREMEN 

“ All section-foremen, until further orders, will 
divide their gangs into tricks, and have one man 
constantly on duty patrolling the track from end 
to end of their section. All sections must be gone 
over not less than once every three hours, and spe- 
cial vigilance is required at night. The road re- 
lies upon its section-men to see that this work is 
faithfully done. Double time will be allowed for 
this extra duty. To go into effect at once. 

“ [Signed] A. G. Round, 

“ Sup t. and Gen. Manager. 

“ Cincinnati , Ohio , November 30.” 

And simultaneously the road’s police force was 
augmented by a dozen special detectives. The man- 
agement was determined to prove that it could pro- 
tect its property. Besides, the other roads of the 
country were looking on with much interest to 
see what the result of this struggle would be, for 
the tramp nuisance was rampant everywhere. 

For a time, it seemed that these precautions had 


186 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


been effective. There were no more robberies re- 
ported, and few tramps attempted to steal rides. To 
be sure, the station at Madeira caught fire one night 
and burned to the ground, but there was no proof 
of incendiarism. Still the road did not relax its 
vigilance. Threatening rumours came to it from 
the underworld. The detectives, assuming tramp 
garb and fraternizing with the “ hoboes,” became 
aware of something sinister in the air, but could 
never quite fathom the mystery. They were sure 
of only one thing — something was going to happen. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

ALLAN MAKES A DISCOVERY 

During all this time, Allan had been taking his 
trick of track-walking with the other men on Sec- 
tion Twenty-one. Jack had arranged it so that 
the boy’s trip over the road was made in the early 
morning, from four o’clock to seven, when, in his 
opinion, there was the minimum of danger. For 
Jack still feared Dan Nolan, although that rascal 
had not been seen in the neighbourhood for months. 
But Jack had an uneasy feeling that Nolan was still 
plotting mischief, that he was still watching his 
opportunity to do Allan an injury. 

The boy himself, confident in his growing man- 
hood, laughed at these fears. 

“ Nolan has cleared out for good,” he said to 
Jack. “ He’s gone somewhere where he’s not 
187 


188 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


known, and has got another job. We’ll never see 
him again.” 

But Jack shook his head stubbornly. 

“ I know better,” he said. “ Mebbe he’s gone 
away for awhile, but he’ll come back ag’in, an’, 
if he ever gits a good chance t’ hit y’ from behind, 
he’ll take it. I’ve got a sort of idee that Nolan’s 
at th’ bottom of most of th’ devilment that’s been 
goin’ on on this here road. Th’ tramps would ’a’ 
cleared out long ago if there hadn’t been somebody 
back of them urgin’ ’em on.” 

“ Oh, come, Jack,” protested Allan, “ you’ve let 
that idea get such a hold on you that you can’t 
shake it off.” 

“ Anyway,” said Jack, “ I want you t’ keep your 
eyes about you when you’re out there by yourself. 
An’ you’re t’ carry that club I made fer you, an’ 
t’ use it, too, if Nolan ever comes near enough for 
you t’ git a good lick at him.” 

Allan laughed again, but he carried the club with 
him, nevertheless, more to quiet Jack’s fears and 
Mary’s than because he thought he would ever need 
it. Jack had gone down to the carpenter shop the 


A DISCOVERY 


189 


first day the order to patrol the track was posted, 
and had selected a piece of seasoned hickory, which 
he had fashioned into an effective weapon. Most 
of the other section-men were similarly armed, and 
were prepared to meet force with force. 

But Jack’s fears were to be verified in an unex- 
pected way a few days later. One of the detec- 
tives employed by the road had succeeded in dis- 
guising himself as a tramp so effectively that he 
was admitted to their councils, and one night a 
force of men was gathered at headquarters for an 
expedition of which none of them knew the des- 
tination. It happened to be Jack’s trick, and, when 
he reported for duty, the train-master called him 
to one side. 

“ Welsh,” he said, “ we’re going on a little ex- 
pedition to-night which promises some fun. I 
thought maybe you’d like that boy of yours to go 
along, — you seem to want to get him in on every- 
thing going.” 

“ What is it, Mister Schofield?” Jack asked. 
“ Anything dangerous ? ” 

“ No,” answered the train-master, “ I don’t think 


190 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


there’ll be any real danger, but there may be some 
excitement. I want you to go and you’d better 
bring the boy.” 

“ All right, sir,” said Jack, resolving, however, 
to keep the boy close to himself. 

A caller was sent after Allan, who appeared at 
the end of a few minutes, his eyes big with excite- 
ment. 

“What is it?” he asked, as he saw the men 
grouped together, talking in low tones. “ Another 
wreck ? ” 

“No,” said Jack; “it ain’t a wreck. I don’t 
know what it is. It’s got something t’ do with th’ 
tramps, I think. Mebbe you’d better not go.” 

“ Of course I’ll go,” protested the boy. “ I 
wouldn’t miss it for anything.” 

A moment later the men, of whom there were 
twenty, were divided into parties of four each, and 
each man was given a short, stout policeman’s club 
loaded with lead at the end. 

“ Now, boys,” said the train-master, after the 
clubs had been distributed, “ I want you to remem- 
ber that it’s an easy thing to kill a man with one 


A DISCOVERY 


191 


of those clubs, so don’t strike too hard if we get 
into a row. Only, of course, don’t hesitate to 
defend yourselves. Now I guess we’re ready to 
start.” 

Each party was placed in charge of one of the 
road’s detectives, and left the yards by a different 
route. The night was very dark, with black clouds 
rolling overhead and sending down a spatter of 
rain now and then, so that the men could scarcely 
see each other as they walked along. The party 
that Jack and Allan were with followed the rail- 
road track as far as the river-bank; then they 
turned aside, crossed the long bridge which spanned 
the river, and pushed their way along a path which 
led to the right along the opposite bank. 

It was anything but easy walking, for the path 
was a narrow and uneven one, nearly overgrown 
by the rank underbrush along the river, so that they 
had to proceed in single file, the detective in the 
lead, stumbling over rocks, stepping into mud- 
holes, with branches slapping them in the faces, 
and briars catching at their clothing. At last they 
came out upon an open field, which they crossed. 


192 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


Beyond the field was a road, which they followed 
for half a mile or more, then they struck off along 
another path through an open hickory wood, and 
finally halted for breath at the base of a high hill. 

In a few moments, the other parties came up, 
panting and mud-bespattered, and the detectives and 
Mr. Schofield drew apart for a little consultation. 

“ Now, boys,” said Mr. Schofield, in a low voice, 
when the consultation was over, “ I’ll tell you what 
we’re after so that you’ll know what to expect. 
One of our men here has discovered up on this hill 
the place where the ringleaders among the tramps 
make their headquarters. If we can capture these 
ringleaders, all our troubles with the tramps will 
be over. We’re going to surround the place, and 
we want to capture every one of them. We must 
creep up on them as quietly as we can, and then 
a pistol-shot will be the signal for a rush. And, 
remember, we don’t want any of them to get 
away ! ” 

A little murmur ran through the crowd, and 
they gripped their clubs tighter. Jack was glad that 
they had not been given revolvers, — in the dark- 


A DISCOVERY 


193 


ness and confusion, such weapons would be more 
dangerous to friend than foe. 

They started cautiously up the hill, advancing 
slowly and painfully, for there was now no vestige 
of a path. The uneven ground and tangled under- 
growth made progress very difficult, but they grad- 
ually worked their way upward until they came 
to the edge of a little clearing. Against a cliff of 
rock at one side a rude hut was built. There was 
no window, but, through the chinks in the logs, 
they could see that there was a light within. The 
men were spread out along the edge of the clearing, 
and waited breathlessly for the signal to advance. 

The pistol-shot rang out, clear and sharp in the 
night air, and, even as the men sprang forward, 
the door of the hut was thrown open and a man’s 
figure appeared silhouetted against the light. He 
stood an instant listening to the rush of advancing 
footsteps, then slammed the door shut, and in a 
breath the hut was in darkness. 

But that single instant was enough for both 
Allan and Jack Welsh to recognize the man. 

It was Dan Nolan ! 


194 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


In another second, they were hammering at the 
door, but they found it strongly barred, and three 
or four minutes elapsed — minutes that seemed like 
centuries — before they got the door down and 
rushed over the threshold into the hut. One of the 
detectives opened his dark lantern and flashed a 
brilliant band of light about the place, while the 
men stared in astonishment. 

For the hut was empty! 

They lighted the lamp which stood on a box in 
one corner and made a more careful examination 
of the place. Two or three boxes, an old stove, a 
few cooking utensils, and a rude cot in one corner 
comprised all the furniture, and one of the detec- 
tives, pulling aside the largest box, which stood 
against the back of the hut, solved the mystery of 
Nolan’s disappearance. 

A passage had been dug in the bank which formed 
the back of the hut, and the detective, after flashing 
his dark lantern within, crawled into it without 
hesitation. In a few moments, they heard the 
sound of steps outside, and the detective came in 
again at the door. 


A DISCOVERY 


195 


“He’s got clear away,” he said; “as well as 
all the rest who were with him. That tunnel leads 
off to the left and comes out the other side of this 
bank.” 

Mr. Schofield’s face showed his disappointment. 

“ It’s too bad,” he said, “ that we didn’t know 
about that tunnel. Then we could have placed a 
guard at the other end.” 

“ There were precious few knew about it,” said 
the detective who had discovered the place. “ I’ve 
been here half a dozen times, and never suspected 
its existence.” 

“ Well,” said the train-master, “ the only thing 
we can do is to go home, I guess. We can’t hope 
to find a man in these woods on a night like this.” 

“ You knowed that feller who opened th’ door, 
didn’t you, Mister Schofield ? ” questioned Jack, as 
they left the hut. 

“ No,” said Mr. Schofield, quickly. “ Did you? ” 

“Yes,” replied Jack, quietly; “it was Dan 
Nolan.” 

“ Dan Nolan ! ” repeated the train-master, incred- 
ulously. “ Are you sure ? ” 


196 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


“ Allan here knowed him, too,” said Jack. “ It’s 
what I’ve been thinkin’ all along, that Nolan was 
at th’ bottom of all this mischief. He’s got t’ be 
a kind o’ king o’ th’ tramps, I guess.” 

“ Perhaps you’re right,” agreed Mr. Schofield. 
“ I’ll put our detectives on his trail. Maybe they 
can run him down, if he hasn’t been scared away 
by his narrow escape to-night.” 

“ He’ll shift his headquarters,” said Jack, “ but 
I don’t believe he’ll be scared away — not till he 
gits what he’s after, anyway.” 

“And what is that?” questioned the train-mas- 
ter. 

“ He’s after Allan there,” said Jack, in a lower 
tone. “ An’ he’ll git him yet, I’m afraid.” 

“ Well, we’ll make it hot for him around here,” 
said Mr. Schofield, and went forward to impart 
this information to the detectives. 

All of the men were completely tired out by the 
long night tramp, as well as chagrined over their 
ill success, but Allan was up again as usual next 
morning and started off upon his tramp along the 
track. 


A DISCOVERY 


197 


“ Now, be careful of yourself, darlint,” Mary 
cautioned him, as she saw him off, and Allan prom- 
ised to be especially alert. 

There could be no doubt that it was Dan Nolan 
they had seen at the door of the hut the night be- 
fore, but Allan only half-believed that Nolan still 
preserved his enmity toward him. Certainly, he 
decided, it was not worth worrying about, — worry- 
ing never did any good. He would be ready to 
meet danger as it came, but he greatly doubted if 
it would ever come, at least, to himself personally. 

He had grown to like this duty of patrolling the 
track. It had been a pleasant duty, and an unevent- 
ful one, for at no time had he found anything wrong, 
or met with unpleasant adventure of any kind. But 
those long walks through the fresh, cold air, with 
the dawn just tingeing the east, opened a new world 
to the boy. It was no longer the hot, dusty, work- 
a-day world of labour, but a sweet, cool, clean world, 
where joy dwelt and where a man might grow. 
He heard the birds greet the sunrise with never- 
failing joy; he heard the cattle lowing in the fields; 
even the river beside the road seemed to dance with 


198 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


new life, as the sun’s rays sought it out and gilded 
its every ripple. It was not a long walk — three 
miles out and three back — and what an appetite 
for breakfast it gave him ! Even these few months 
had wrought a great change in him. He was 
browned by the sun and hardened by toil, as has 
been said already; but the change was greater than 
that. It was mental as well as physical. He had 
grown older, and his face had gained the self-reliant 
look of the man who is making his own way in 
the world and who is sure of himself. 

Despite all this extra work, Section Twenty-one 
was kept in perfect condition, and the train-master 
noted it, as he noted everything else about the road 

“ You’re doing good work, Welsh,” he said to 
Jack one day, when he chanced to meet him in the 
yards. 

“ I’ve got a good gang,” answered the foreman, 
proudly. “ There’s one o’ my men that’s too good 
fer section work. He ort t’ have a better job, Mr. 
Schofield; one, anyway, where ther’s a chance fer 
permotion — in th’ offices.” 

“ Yes? ” and the official smiled good-naturedly. 


A DISCOVERY 


199 


“ I think I know who you mean. I’ll keep him in 
mind, for we always need good men. This extra 
work will soon be over, though. As soon as cold 
weather sets in, the hoboes will strike for the 
South, and I don’t believe they’ll ever trouble us 
again.” 

“ Mebbe not,” agreed Jack, dubiously. “ But 
I’d be mighty glad to hear that Dan Nolan was 
locked up safe somewhere. You haven’t found any 
trace of him ? ” 

“ No. He seems to have disappeared completely. 
I believe he’s scared out, and cold weather will rid 
us of all the rest.” 

“ Mebbe so,” said Jack; “mebbe so. Anyway, 
I wish cold weather’d hurry up an’ come.” 

But it seemed in no haste about coming. De- 
cember opened bright and warm, and two weeks 
slipped by. Although it was evident that the 
tramps were becoming less numerous, and the man- 
agement of the road began to breathe more freely, 
still the head of the police department did not relax 
his caution. He had his ear to the ground, and, 
from that hidden, subterranean region of trampdom, 


200 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


he still heard vague and uncertain, but no less threat- 
ening, rumblings. 

It was clear that the battle was not yet won, 
for the petty annoyances continued, though in an 
ever lessening degree, and even in the yards the 
tramps or their sympathizers managed to do much 
harm. A freight-train would be standing in the 
yards, ready for its trip east or west; the con- 
ductor would give the signal to start, the engineer 
would open his throttle, and instantly it would be 
discovered that some one had drawn all the coupli tig- 
pins; but, before the engineer could stop his en- 
gine, he had torn out all the air-hose on the train. 
Or, perhaps, the train would start all right, but, 
in the course of half an hour, the fireman would 
discover he could not keep the steam up, no matter 
how hot his fire was; the pressure would fall and 
fall until the train would be stalled out on the road, 
and an investigation would disclose the fact that 
some one had thrown a lot of soap into the tank. 
Then the whole system would be tied up until an- 
other engine could be sent to the rescue to push the 
train into the nearest siding. Or, perhaps, the train 


A DISCOVERY 


201 


would be bowling along merrily until, of a sudden, 
the well-trained noses of conductor and brakemen 
would detect the odour of a hot box. The train 
would be stopped, and it would soon be found that 
some one had removed the packing from the boxes. 

All of these things were provoking enough, es- 
pecially since it was evident that in almost ev.ery 
case the mischief had been done in the yards under 
the very noses of the trainmen, although no tramps 
had been seen there. Indeed, the trainmen, after 
wrestling with such annoyances for a time, came 
to be of a temper that made it exceedingly danger- 
ous for a tramp to be found anywhere near railroad 
property. Yet the annoyances went on, and became 
gradually of a more serious nature. One night 
a brakeman found the main switch at the east end 
of the yards spiked, and it was only by a hair’s 
breadth that a serious collision wlas avoided. But 
the climax came one morning when Bill Morrison, 
on the crack engine of the road, found that some 
one had put sand in his boxes, and that the journals 
were ground off and ruined. 

A rigid investigation was ordered at once, but 


202 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


no clue to the perpetrator of the mischief was dis- 
covered. Yet it seemed certain that it could not 
have been done by a tramp. No tramp had been 
in the yards — the yard-men were sure of that — 
and the officials were forced to the unwelcome con- 
clusion that some one whom they did not suspect 

— some one who was permitted to enter the yards 

— some one connected with the road, perhaps — 
was guilty. It was a disquieting thought, for there 
was no telling what might happen next. 

And then, one morning, Allan solved the mys- 
tery. It was a little after four o’clock and still quite 
dark as he passed through the yards to start on 
his morning walk. A freight-train stood ready 
to start east, with its great mogul of an engine 
puffing and blowing with impatience. Just as Allan 
passed it, he saw a figure emerge from underneath 
it. He thought at first it was the engineer, but, 
instead of mounting to the cab, the figure slunk 
away into the darkness, carefully avoiding the glare 
of the headlight. Then the boy saw the con- 
ductor and engineer standing, with heads together, 
a little distance away, reading their orders by the 


A DISCOVERY 


203 


light of the conductor’s lantern. He ran toward 
them. 

“ Mr. Spurling,” he said to the engineer, “ I just 
saw a man come out from under your engine.” 

“ You did!” and engineer and conductor, with 
compressed lips, hurried back to where the engine 
stood. The former flashed his torch underneath, 
and then straightened up with a very grim face. 

“ Look at that link-motion,” he said, and the 
conductor stooped and looked. Then he, too, 
straightened up. 

“ It’s a good thing we didn’t get started,” he 
said. “I’ll go and report it. It’s lucky for us 
you saw that scoundrel, my boy,” he added, as he 
hurried away, and the engineer clapped Allan on 
the shoulder. 

“ Mighty lucky,” he said. “ It’s a good thing 
there’s one man around here who keeps his eyes 
open.” 

But Allan, as he started away at last upon his 
six-mile tramp, knew not whether to be glad or 
sorry. If only some one else had passed the engine 
at that moment instead of him. For, as that crouch- 


204 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


in g figure slunk away through the darkness, he had 
recognized it! 

So he had a battle to fight on that six-mile tramp ; 
but it was fought and won long before the walk 
was ended. And when, at last, he got back to the 
yards, instead of turning away toward home, he 
mounted the stairs to the train-master’s office. 
That official was busy, as always, with a great pile 
of correspondence, but he looked up and nodded 
pleasantly as Allan entered. 

“ Good morning, West,” he said. “ Want to 
speak to me?” 

“ Yes, Mr. Schofield,” answered Allan. “ This 
morning, as I was starting out on my trick, I saw 
a man come out from under Mr. Spurling’s engine.” 

The train-master nodded. 

“ Yes,” he said, “ I’ve got a report of it here. 
I’m mighty glad you happened to come along just 
when you did, and had your eyes about you.” 

“ I’d much rather it had been somebody else,” 
said Allan, “ for I knew the man, and I think it’s 
my duty to tell you.” 

The train-master looked at him keenly. 


A DISCOVERY 


205 


“ You knew him ? ” he repeated. “ Better and 
better. No doubt he’s the one who’s been giving 
us all this trouble. Who was he?” 

Allan gulped down a lump which had arisen sud- 
denly in his throat. 

“ Reddy Magraw,” he answered, hoarsely. 

“ Reddy Magraw ! ” echoed the train-master, 
with a stare of astonishment. “ Are you sure?” 

“ I wouldn’t say so if I wasn’t sure, sir,” an- 
swered Allan, with a little flush of resentment. “ I 
couldn’t be mistaken.” 

“ Of course,” agreed the train-master, kindly. 
“ But I didn’t think Reddy would do anything like 
that.” 

“ I don’t believe he would have done it, sir,” 
said Allan, “ if Dan Nolan hadn’t got hold of him,” 
and he told of the conference he and Jack had wit- 
nessed on the river-bank. “ I believe Dan put all 
this meanness into his head,” he concluded. “ I’m 
sure it’s with Dan he stays all the time he’s away 
from home.” 

Mr. Schofield nodded again. 

“ No doubt you are right,” he assented. “ Per- 


206 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


haps we ought to have suspected him before. Of 
course, the boys never thought of watching him, 
and so let him stay around the yards as much as 
he wanted to. But we’ll have to protect ourselves. 
This sort of thing can’t go on.” 

“ You mean Reddy will have to be arrested?” 
questioned Allan, with sinking heart. 

“ No,” and the train-master smiled at his anxious 
face. “ I’ll file an affidavit of lunacy against Reddy 
before the probate judge, and we’ll have him sent 
to the asylum at Athens. He’ll be well taken care 
of there, and maybe will get well again much sooner 
than he would at home. He’s not getting any bet- 
ter here, that’s certain; and he’s caused us a lot 
of trouble. Besides, he’s only a burden to his wife.” 

“ Oh, she never thinks of that,” said Allan, 
quickly. “ It’s his staying away that hurts her.” 

“ Yes,” agreed Mr. Schofield, “ I know. I’ve 
talked with her. She’s like all the rest of these 
big-hearted Irish women, — ready to work her- 
self to death for the people she loves. Though,” 
he added, “ that’s a characteristic of nearly all 


women. 


CHAPTER XV. 

A SHOT FROM BEHIND 

Mr. Schofield filed his affidavit before the pro- 
bate judge without delay, but, when the officer of 
the court went to look for Reddy, he was nowhere 
to be found. From his wife it was learned that 
he had not been home for two days, nor was he 
to be discovered in any of his accustomed haunts 
around the yards or in the shops, and the quest for 
him was finally given up in despair. Allan con- 
cluded that Reddy had recognized him that morn- 
ing, as he came out from under the engine which 
he had tampered with, and knew that he was found 
out at last; but, whether this was the case, or 
whether he had got wind of the proceedings against 
him in some other way, certain it is that Reddy 
disappeared from Wadsworth, and nothing more 
was seen of him there for many days. 


207 


208 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


Word w)as quietly passed around among the 
trainmen to be on the watch for him, as he was 
probably the one who had recently caused the road 
so much annoyance; and this came to be pretty 
well proved in time, for, with Reddy’s disappear- 
ance, the annoyances ceased, in so far, at least, as 
they originated in the yards at Wadsworth. Out 
on the line, indeed, they still continued, — switches 
were spiked, fish-plates were loosened, — and then, 
of a sudden, even these ceased, and everything ran 
as smoothly as in the old days. But this very quiet 
alarmed the chief of detectives more than anything 
else had done, for he believed it was the calm pre- 
ceding a storm, and he redoubled his precautions. 
Some of the officers were rather inclined to laugh 
at his fears, but not the superintendent. 

“ You are right, Preston,” he said to the chief. 
“ There’s something in the wind. We’ll look sharp 
till after the pay-car gets here, anyway. After that, 
if nothing happens, we can let up a bit.” 

“ When will the pay-car get here ? ” questioned 
Preston. 


A SHOT FROM BEHIND 209 


“ I don’t know yet ; probably the night of the 
twenty-fourth.” 

“ You’d better order a double guard with it, sir,” 
suggested the detective. 

“ I will,” assented the superintendent. “ More 
than that, Mr. Schofield and I will accompany it. 
If there’s any excitement, we want to be there to 
see it.” 

The detective nodded and went away, while the 
superintendent turned back to his desk. It had 
occurred to him some days before that an attempt 
to hold up the pay-car might be the culminating 
point of the series of outrages under which the road 
was suffering, and the more he had thought of it 
the more likely it appeared. The pay-car would 
be a rich prize, and any gang of men who could 
get away with its contents would be placed beyond 
the need of working, begging, or stealing for a 
long time to come. The pay-car, which always 
started from general headquarters at Cincinnati, 
went over the road, from one end to the other, 
every month, carrying with it the money with which 
the employes of the road were paid. To Wads- 


210 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


worth alone it brought monthly nearly two hun- 
dred thousand dollars, for Wadsworth was division 
headquarters. Nearly all the trainmen employed 
on the division lived there, and besides, there were 
the hundreds of men who laboured in the division 
shops. Yes, the pay-car would be a rich prize, and, 
as the money it carried was all in small denomina- 
tions, it would be impossible to trace it, once the 
robbers got safely away with it. 

Let it be said in passing that on most roads the 
pay-car is now a thing of the past. Payment is 
now 1 usually made by checks, which are sent out in 
registered packages from general headquarters, and 
distributed by the division officials. This method 
is safe and eminently satisfactory to the road, but 
some of the employes object occasionally because 
of the difficulty they sometimes experience in get- 
ting their checks cashed immediately. 

The road had never suffered any attack upon 
its pay-car, primarily, no doubt, because it was 
well-known that there were always half a dozen 
well-armed men with it, who would not hesitate 
to use their weapons. In fact, every man, as he 


A SHOT FROM BEHIND 211 


stood at the little grated cashier’s window, wait- 
ing for his money, could see the row of rifles in 
the rack against the wall and the brace of pistols 
lying upon the desk, ready to the cashier’s hand. 
Besides, even if the car were broken into and the 
money secured, the difficulty of getting away safely 
with the booty was enormous. The road, for the 
most part, ran through a thickly settled country, 
and the moment the alarm was given, posses could 
be set in motion and the wires set humming in every 
direction, in the effort to run the robbers down. 
So, with whatever hungry greed would-be high- 
waymen had eyed the piles of bills and gold vis- 
ible through the little grated window, none of them 
had ever dared to make a forcible attempt to gain 
possession of them. 

Perhaps no one would dare attempt it now, 
thought the superintendent; perhaps he had been 
merely alarming himself without cause. At least, 
the most effective defensive measure would be to 
keep secret the hour of the pay-car’s arrival. If 
no one knew exactly when to look for it, no attempt 
could be made to hold it up. Such an attempt, 


212 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


at the best, would be foolhardy, and the superin- 
tendent turned back to his work with a little sigh 
of relief at the thought. In a few' moments, im- 
mersed in the pile of correspondence before him, 
he had quite forgotten his uneasiness. 

Certainly, as day after day went smoothly by, 
there seemed less and less cause for apprehension. 
The tramps were evidently making southward, like 
the birds, before the approach of winter. And 
nothing more was seen of Dan Nolan. A watch 
had been kept upon the hut on the hillside, but he 
had not returned there, so the hut was finally de- 
molished and the tunnel in the cliff closed up. 
Every effort had been made to discover his where- 
abouts, but in vain. The detectives of the road 
declared that he was nowhere in the neighbourhood ; 
but Jack Welsh was, as always, skeptical. 

Just east of Wadsworth, beyond the river, the 
country rose into a series of hills, sparsely settled 
and for the most part covered by virgin forest. 
These hills extended for many miles to the east- 
ward, and among them, Jack told himself, Nolan 


A SHOT FROM BEHIND 213 


could easily find a secure hiding-place for himself 
and half a dozen men. 

“ An’ that’s jest where he is,” said Jack to Allan 
one evening, when they were talking the matter 
over. “ That’s jest what Nolan’d love t’ do — put 
hisself at th’ head of a gang o’ bandits. He was 
allers talkin’ about highwaymen an’ train-robbers 
an’ desperadoes when he was on th’ gang; but we 
only laughed at him then. Now, I see it would 
have been a good thing if I’d ’a’ taken a stout stick 
an’ beat that foolishness out o’ him.” 

“ But Reddy,” said Allan; “ where’s Reddy?” 

“ Reddy’s with him,” answered Jack, decidedly. 
“ An’ there’s no tellin’ what scrape that reptile’ll 
git him into. I dare say, Reddy thinks Nolan’s 
his best friend. That’d be natural enough, since 
he’s got to thinkin’ that all his old friends are his 
worst enemies.” 

“ If we could only find him! ” said Allan, wist- 
fully, “ and bring him home again. The poor fel- 
low will never get well if he’s left to wander about 
like that.” 

But there seemed no way of finding him. Allan 


214 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


was the last person who had seen him. That was 
at the moment, in the early morning, when he had 
slunk away from under the engine. Some warning 
of the search for him must certainly have reached 
him, for he had never again appeared at home. 
His wife, nearly heart-broken by the suspense, im- 
agining him suffering all sorts of hardships, yet 
went about her work with a calm persistence which 
concealed in some degree the tumult which raged 
within her. The children must be fed and cared 
for, and she permitted nothing to stand between 
her and that duty. The division offices had never 
been so clean as they were since Mrs. Magraw 
had taken charge of them. 

A day or two later, Allan fancied he saw some- 
thing which proved the truth of Jack’s theory. It 
was one morning as he was returning from his 
regular trip that he reached the embankment along 
the river and glanced over at the willows on the 
farther side, as he always did when he passed the 
place, for it was there that he and Jack had first 
seen Reddy in Nolan’s company. His heart gave 
a leap as he saw two men there. He stopped and 


A SHOT FROM BEHIND 215 


looked at them, but the early morning mist rising 
from the river hid them so that he could discern 
nothing beyond the mere outline of their forms. 
He stared long and earnestly, until they passed 
behind the clump of willows and disappeared from 
sight. Something told him that it was Reddy and 
Nolan again, but he could not be sure, and at last 
he went slowly on his way. Perhaps they had a 
place of concealment somewhere in the woods that 
stretched eastward from the river-bank. 

He mentioned his suspicion to Jack, as soon as 
he reached home, and the latter was all on fire in 
a minute. 

“ I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” he said. “ Next 
Sunday we’ll take a walk through th’ woods over 
there, an’ it’s jest possible we’ll run on to ’em. 
Mebbe we kin save Reddy from that rascal yet ! ” 

So, bright and early the next Sunday morning, 
they started out, taking with them 1 a lunch, for they 
did not expect to return until evening. They 
crossed the river by the bridge which they had 
used on the night when they had tried to capture 
Nolan, and struck at once into the woods. 


216 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


“ It’s like huntin’ a needle in a haystack,” said 
Jack, “ but my idea is that they’ve got a hut some- 
wheres back in th’ hollers behind this first range 
o’ hills. They’s mighty few houses back there, — 
nothin’ but woods. So mebbe we’ll run on to ’em, 
if we have good luck.” 

They scrambled up the first low range of hills 
which looked down upon the broad river, and 
paused for a moment on the summit for a look about 
them. Beyond the river lay the level valley which, 
twelve decades before, had been one of the favour- 
ite dwelling-places of the red man. The woods 
abounded with game of every sort, and the river 
with fish, while in the fertile bottom his com would 
grow to ripe luxuriance with little cultivation. 
More than one fierce battle for the possession of 
this smiling valley had been fought with the hardy 
bands of pioneers, who had pushed their way up 
from the Ohio, but at last the advancing tide of 
civilization swept the Indian aside, and the modern 
town of Wadsworth began to rise where formerly 
there had been no building more substantial than 
the hide wigwam. 


A SHOT FROM BEHIND 217 


Jack and Allan could see the town nestling among 
its trees in the wide valley, but, when they turned 
about, a different view met them. To the east- 
ward were no plains, no bottoms, no city, but, far 
as the eye could see, one hill rose behind another, 
all of them heavily wooded to the very summit, 
so steep and with a soil so gravelly that no one 
had ever attempted to cultivate them. Nor did 
any one dwell among them, save a few poverty- 
stricken families, who lived in summer by picking 
blackberries and in winter by digging sassafras- 
root, — a class of people so shiftless and mean and 
dirty that no respectable farmer would permit them 
on his place. 

It was the rude cabin of one of these families 
which Jack and Allan saw in the valley before them, 
and they determined to descend to it and make 
inquiries. There was a rough path leading down- 
wards through the woods, and this they followed 
until they came to the edge of the little clearing 
which surrounded the house. They went forward 
to the door and knocked, but there was no response, 
and, after a moment, Jack pushed the door open 


218 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


cautiously and looked inside. As he did so, a shot 
rang out behind him, and Allan felt a sudden sting 
of pain across his cheek as a bullet sang past and 
embedded itself in the jamb of the door. 

“What’s that?” cried Jack, springing around, 
and then he saw Allan wiping the blood from his 
cheek. “What is it, lad?” he asked, his face pal- 
ing. “You’re not hurted?” 

“ Only a scratch,” said Allan, smiling. “ Just 
took a little of the skin off.” 

“ Come in here an’ we’ll look at it,” and Jack 
half-dragged him through the open door, which 
he closed and barred. “ That’ll keep th’ varmint 
from takin’ another shot at us,” he said. “ Now 
let’s see the cheek.” 

But not even Jack’s anxiety could make of the 
wound more than a scratch. The bullet had cut 
the skin from the left cheek for nearly an inch, 
and a little cold water, which Jack found in a 
bucket in the house, soon stopped the bleeding. 

“ Who could it have been ? ” asked Allan, at 


last. 


A SHOT FROM BEHIND 219 


“ Y’ don’t need t’ ask that, I hope,” cried Jack. 
“ It was Dan Nolan ! ” 

“ Well, he didn’t hurt me much,” said Allan, 
with a laugh. “ He doesn’t seem to have very 
good luck.” 

“ No,” said Jack ; “ but if that bullet had been 
an inch further to th’ right, you wouldn’t be a-settin’ 
laughin’ there,” and a little shudder ran through 
him as he thought of it, and he clinched his hands 
as he imagined what his vengeance would have 
been. 

“ Do you suppose Nolan lives here? ” asked Allan, 
looking curiously around the room. 

“ No,” said Jack ; “ they’s one o’ th’ Waymores 
lives here, but I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he 
was in cahoots with Nolan. These people ’re just 
as much vagabonds as them that go trampin’ about 
th’ country.” 

Allan looked again about the squalid room, and 
turned a little sick at the thought of living in the 
midst of such filth and wretchedness. 

“ Come, let’s get out of here,” he said. “ I want 


220 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


some fresh air. This is enough to turn one’s 
stomach.” 

“ I tell you,” suggested Jack, “ suppose we go 
out th’ back door there an’ sneak around th’ edge 
of th’ clearin’. Mebbe we kin come on Nolan 
when he ain’t lookin’ — and what I’ll do to him’ll 
be a plenty ! ” 

Allan laughed at his ferocity. 

“ I don’t believe Nolan would stay around here,” 
he said. “ He didn’t know but what there were 
others with us. He probably decamped as soon 
as he took that crack at me.” 

“ Well, it won’t do any harm t’ try,” said Jack, 
and try they did, but no trace of Nolan was any- 
where to be seen. 

They went on through the woods, eating their 
lunch beside a limpid spring which bubbled from 
beneath a rock in the hillside, and during the after- 
noon pushed on along the valley, but met no human 
beings. If it was indeed Nolan who fired the shot, 
he had taken to cover effectually. Allan began to 
doubt more and more that it had really been 
Nolan. 


A SHOT FROM BEHIND 221 


“ It might have been a hunter/’ he pointed out 
to Jack, “ who wlas shooting at something else, 
and did not see us at all. Such things happen, you 
know.” 

“ Yes,” Jack admitted, “ but that wasn’t what 
happened this time,” and, when they reached home 
again, he went straight over to the offices and re- 
lated to Mr. Schofield the details of the morning’s 
adventures. That official promised to put two 
detectives on Nolan’s trail at once. They worked 
on it for two or three days, but, though they even 
employed a bloodhound in the effort to run him 
down, all their work was quite in vain. The man 
to whom the cabin belonged said he had walked 
over to a neighbour’s that Sunday and had been 
away from home all day. He denied all knowledge 
of Nolan or Reddy Magraw. And the search ended, 
as all the others had done, without finding a trace 
of either of them. 

So the days passed, and the work on section 
went on in its unvaried round. And even from 
day to day Allan felt himself changing, as his hori- 
zon broadened. He had become a different boy 


222 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


from the diffident youngster who had asked Jack 
Welsh for a job that morning a few short months 
before. Work had strengthened him and made 
him a man; he felt immeasurably older; he had 
gained self-confidence; he felt that he could look 
out for himself in any emergency. He was playing 
a man’s part in the world ; he was earning an hon- 
est living. He had gained friends, and he began 
to feel that he had a future before him. He was 
going to make the most of every opportunity, for 
he was ambitious, as every boy ought to be. He 
longed to get into the superintendent’s office, where 
there would be a chance to learn something about 
the infinitely difficult work of operating the road, 
and where there would be a chance for promotion. 
He never spoke of this to Jack, for such a thought 
seemed almost like desertion, but he never passed 
the offices without looking longingly up at the net- 
work of wires and signals. Sometimes, when some 
duty took him up-stairs, he could hear the wild 
chatter of the instruments in the despatches’ office, 
and he determined to try to understand their lan- 
guage. 


A SHOT FROM BEHIND 223 


Jack came into the section-shanty one morning 
with a sheet of paper in his hand and a broad smile 
upon his face. 

“ I’ve got a Christmas gift fer y’, boys,” he said, 
and stuck the notice up on the hook. They all 
crowded around to read it. 

“ NOTICE TO SECTION FOREMEN 

“ All patrolling of the tracks will cease on and 
after December 25th next. This company deeply 
appreciates the faithful service its section-men have 
given it, and will endeavour to show that appre- 
ciation by increasing the wages of all section-men 
ten per cent., to go into effect January 1st. 

“ A. G. Round, 

“ Supt. and Gen’ l Manager ., 

" Cincinnati , Ohio, Dec. 18th.” 

“ How’s that, boys ? ” asked Jack. “ That’s a 
Christmas gift worth havin’, ain’t it ? ” and he 
looked about from face to face, for he knew what 
that increase of twelve and a half cents a day meant 
to these men. It meant more food for the children, 


224 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


a new dress for the wife, — a little more luxury 
and ease in lives which were hard enough at 
best. 

The weather had been cool and pleasant, but 
it changed as Christmas drew near, and the twenty- 
fourth was marked by a heavy storm. All the 
afternoon the rain fell in torrents, the wind blew 
a hurricane, and — something rare for December 
— the lightning flashed and the thunder rumbled 
savagely overhead. 

Work was out of the question, and, after playing 
awhile with Mamie, and telling her wonderful 
stories of Santa Claus and what he was going to 
bring her that night, Jack Welsh mounted to his 
room to get a few hours of much-needed rest. For 
his hours of patrol duty were from nine o’clock 
to midnight, and this trying extra work was be- 
ginning to tell upon him. With that characteristic 
unselfishness which endeared him to his men, he 
had chosen the worst trick for himself. 

“ I’ll be mighty glad when this extry work’s 
over,” his wife remarked, as she busied herself with 


A SHOT FROM BEHIND 225 


the dishes in the kitchen, “ fer all it pays double. 
There’s no use fer a man t’ kill hisself jest t’ make 
a little extry money. Jack’s purty nigh wore out; 
— just listen how he snores ! ” 

Allan looked up at her and laughed from the 
place on the floor where he was helping Mamie 
construct a castle out of painted blocks. 

“ We’ll let him sleep as long as we can,” he said; 
and so it was not till nearly eight o’clock that Mamie 
was sent up-stairs to call him. They heard him 
get heavily out of bed, and, while he was putting 
on his clothes, Mary trimmed the lamp and stirred 
up the fire, in order that everything might be bright 
and warm to welcome him. And Allan, watching 
her, felt his eyes grow a little misty as he saw her 
loving thoughtfulness. 

“ Better hurry up, Jack, dear,” she called. “ You 
haven’t much time t’ spare.” 

“ Cornin’, Mary, cornin’,” he answered, “ as soon 
as I git this plaguy boot on.” 

“ It’s an awful night,” said his wife, as he came 
sleepily down the stair. “ Do you have t’ go, Jack? 
Can’t y’ stay home on Christmas Eve ? ” 


226 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


“ No, I have to go, Mary; ” and he doused hands 
and face in a great basin of rain-water. “ It’s th’ 
last time, y’ know, an’ I ain’t a-goin’ t’ shirk now. 
Maybe th’ pay-car’ll come through t’-night. They 
promised us our pay this month fer Christmas, y’ 
know, an’ we want to be sure that she gits here 
all right. To-morrow we’ll have a great time, an’ 
they’ll be no more patrol duty after that.” 

Mamie danced around the floor, for she had re- 
ceived mysterious hints from Allan of what was 
to happen on the morrow, and her father picked her 
up and kissed her before he sat down to the supper 
that was on the table awaiting him. He drank his 
coffee and ate his bacon and eggs with an appetite 
born of good digestion. Then he donned his great 
boots and rubber coat. 

“ Now, don’t y’ worry, Mary,” he said, drawing 
his wife to him. “ There won’t a drop of rain git 
to me in this rig. Good-bye, Mamie,” and he 
picked up the child and kissed her again. “ Take 
good care of ’em, Allan.” 

He rammed his wide leather hat down farther 
upon his head, made sure that his lantern was burn- 


A SHOT FROM BEHIND 227 


mg properly, took up the heavy club he always car- 
ried, and opened the door. 

“ Good-bye,” he called back, and in a moment 
had disappeared in the darkness. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


A CALL TO DUTY 

Allan sat down by the table and picked up a 
book on telegraphy which he had secured from 
the public library of Wadsworth, and which he was 
studying faithfully in such odd hours as he had 
to himself, — without much result, be it said, since 
he had no instrument to practise on, — while Mrs. 
Welsh put the excited Mamie to bed, warning her 
to go to sleep at once, lest she frighten Santa Claus 
away, and then went slowly about the task of clear- 
ing up the supper dishes and putting the house in 
order for the morrow. 

“ An’ we’ll hev t’ set up th’ Christmas tree to- 
night,” she remarked. “ It’ll hev t’ be ready when 
Mamie wakes up in th’ mornin’, an’ she’ll wake 
mighty early.” 


228 


A CALL TO DUTY 


229 


“ All right,” said Allan ; “ as soon as you’re 
ready, tell me.” 

That morning, on his way in from his trip, he 
had stopped to cut a little evergreen in a grove near 
the track, and this had been safely deposited in the 
cellar, out of the reach of Mamie’s curious eyes. 
Long strings of snow-white pop-corn had been 
threaded, streamers of bright-coloured tissue-paper 
prepared, little red and blue candles bought; all 
of which, together with the presents and parti-col- 
oured candies, would make the tree in Mamie’s 
eyes a veritable fairy picture. It was her first 
Christmas tree, and it was to be a splendid one! 

“ Now I’m ready, Allan,” said Mrs. Welsh, at 
last; and Allan laid aside his book and brought 
up the tree from the cellar, while Mrs. Welsh un- 
locked the closet where the ornaments and gifts 
had been carefully hidden. “ We’ll set it up in that 
comer by th’ winder,” she continued ; “ then th’ 
people that goes by outside kin see it, too.” 

“ I’m glad I’m going to be here when Mamie 
first sees it,” said Allan, as he nailed some cross- 
pieces on the bottom of the tree to hold it upright. 


230 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


“ I’d be out on my trick if it hadn’t been for that 
order.” 

“ Yes, an’ I’m glad, too,” agreed Mrs. Welsh. 
“ That patrol work was hard on all o’ you. But 
this trip o’ Jack’s t’-night’ll be th’ last that any o’ 
th’ gang on Twenty-one has t’ make. I only wish 
th’ patrollin’ had ended to-day instead o’ to-morrer, 
then Jack’d be here with us now instead of out in 
that howlin’ storm.” 

They listened a moment to the wind whistling 
about the house, and to the rain lashing savagely 
against the windows. 

“ It is a bad night,” said Allan, “ but Jack won’t 
mind it. He’ll be thinking of the good time he’s 
going to have to-morrow.” 

“ Well, I’m glad it’s th’ last time, anyway, — 
fer your sake, too, Allan. Jack an’ me used t’ 
worrit ourselves nearly sick when you’d start out 
alone that way. We never knowed what’d hap- 
pen.” 

“ And nothing ever happened, after all ! ” laughed 
Allan. “ I believe that Dan Nolan has forgotten 
all about me long before this.” 


A CALL TO DUTY 


231 


Mary shook her head doubtfully. 

“ I don’t know,” she said. “ But anyway it 
won’t matter now, for you’ll allers be with th’ gang 
after this, an’ Nolan won’t dare show his nose 
around where they are. Jack’s just achin’ t’ lay 
hands on him.” 

“ There,” said Allan, as he drove the last nail, 
“ that’s solid, I think,” and he set the tree up in 
the corner. “Now, what next?” 

“ All these things has got t’ have little ribbons 
tied to ’em,” said Mrs. Welsh, who had been get- 
ting out the candy, fruits, and presents. “ But I 
kin do that. You set down an’ read your book.” 

“ Indeed I won’t ! ” protested the boy. “ I want 
to feel that I’ve had something to do with this 
tree,” and he drew a chair up to the table. 

“ Somethin* t’ do with it ! ” retorted Mary. 
“ You’ve had everything t’ do with it, I’m a-thinkin’. 
It’s your Christmas tree, Allan, an’ mighty nice 
of you to think of it, my boy.” 

“ Oh, I wanted Mamie to have one,” he pro- 
tested ; “ especially when it was so little trouble 
to get. Now it’s ready for the pop-corn.” 


232 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


Mrs. Welsh began to drape the white festoons 
about the tree. Suddenly she paused and looked 
up with startled eyes. 

“What was that?” she asked. 

Allan listened with strained attention, but heard 
only the dashing of the rain and whistling of the 
wind. 

“ It sounded like the trampin’ of men,” she said, 
after a moment. “ Perhaps it wasn’t anything. 
Yes! There it is ag’in!” 

She sprang to the door and threw it open with 
frenzied haste. Up the path she saw dimly four 
men advancing, staggering under a burden. Her 
love told her what the burden was. 

“It’s Jack!” she screamed. “It’s Jack! My 
God ! They’ve killed him ! ” and, forgetting the 
storm, she sprang down the path toward them. 

“ Is he dead? ” she demanded. “ Tell me quick 
— is he dead ? ” 

It was Jack’s hearty voice that answered her. 

“ Not by a good deal, Mary ! It’ll take more’n 
a twisted ankle t’ kill Jack Welsh!” 

She threw her arms about him, sobbing wildly 


A CALL TO DUTY 


233 


in her great relief, the men standing by, awkwardly 
supporting him. 

“ But there ! Here I am keepin’ you out in th’ 
wet! Bring him in, men/’ and she ran on before, 
radiant wlith happiness. This misfortune was so 
much less than she had feared, that it seemed almost 
not to be a misfortune at all. “ It’s only a sprained 
ankle, Allan,” she cried to the boy, and ran on past 
him to get a chair ready. 

The men settled the foreman down into the chair 
cautiously. 

“ Shall I git th’ doctor?” asked one. 

Jack laughed. 

“ TIT doctor, indade ! ” he said. “ Mary’ll fix 
this all right in no time. It ain’t bad. But I’m 
much obliged to ye, boys.” 

The men took themselves back to work, happier, 
somehow, for having witnessed the little scene on 
the pathway. 

But when the boot was cut away from the swollen 
ankle, it was evident that its owner would not go 
about on it again for many days to come. It was 
bathed and rubbed with liniment and tightly ban- 


234 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


daged by the wife’s deft fingers, and the pain grad- 
ually grew less. 

“ I slipped on a rail, y’ see,” explained Jack, 
when the injured member had been properly cared 
for. 

“ My foot went down into a frog, an’ then I 
had t’ fall over and wrench it. I’m sorry it give 
y’ such a turn, Mary; I ought t’ have sent a man 
on ahead t’ warn you.” 

Mary smiled down on him indulgently. 

“ ’Twas better this way, Jack, dear,” she said. 
“ I’m so happy now t’ have y’ alive here talkin’ t’ 
me that it hardly seems you’ve met with an acci- 
dent at all! See, we was jest gittin’ th’ Christmas 
tree ready; now you kin set there, with your foot 
up on a chair like this and boss th’ job. It’s an 
ill wind that blows nobody good ; and I’m glad fer 
your own sake. Now you won’t have to go out 
in th’ storm.” 

But, at the words, the foreman’s face suddenly 
changed. 

“ Good heavens ! ” he cried. “ I fergot ! Th’ 
track has t’ be patrolled. Somebody has t’ go,” and 


A CALL TO DUTY 


235 


he raised himself in his chair, but fell back with 
a groan. “ No use,” he muttered, between his 
clenched teeth. “ To-night, too, when th’ pay-car’ll 
most probably come through! Allan, you’ll have 
t’ run over t’ th’ train-master, an’ git him t’ send 
somebody else.” 

“ Mr. Schofield went to Cincinnati this morning, 
I think,” answered Allan. “ I saw him getting on 
the train as I came in from the road.” 

“ O’ course!” cried Jack, fiercely. “ He’s gone 
down t’ come back with th’ pay-car. Well, hunt 
up th’ chief despatcher, then; somebody’s got t’ 
patrol that track.” 

Without a word, Allan donned the foreman’s 
rubber coat and great hat. Then he picked up the 
heavy club and the red signal-lantern, which was 
standing, still lighted, on the table, where one of 
the men had placed it. 

“ What y’ goin’ t’ do with that ? ” demanded 
Jack, eying the boy uneasily. “ Y’ don’t need that 
to go to th’ depot with.” 

“ No,” said Allan, smiling, “ but you see, I’m 


236 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


not going to the depot. I’m going to take your 
trick.” 

“ No, you ain’t ! ” cried the other, fiercely. 

“ Yes, I am. There’s nobody else to be got at 
this time of night ; besides, you said yourself there’s 
no danger.” 

Jack looked at him a moment doubtfully. 

“ No, I don’t think there is,” he said at last. 
“ But it’s a bad night.” 

“ Pooh ! ” and Allan whirled his club disdainfully. 
“ Not a drop of water can get to me in this rig,” 
he added, echoing Jack’s words. 

“ Anyway,” said the latter, hesitatingly, “ y’ll 
be back in three hours, an’ you kin sleep late in 
the mornin’. I don’t see no other way,” he added, 
with a sigh. 

“All right,” said Allan; “good-bye,” and went 
to the door. 

But Mrs. Welsh ran after him, threw her arms 
about his neck and kissed him. 

“ You’re a good boy, Allan,” she cried, half-sob- 
bing. “ I’ll have a good hot meal fer you when 
y’ git back.” 


A CALL TO DUTY 


237 


Allan laughed. 

“ I’ll be ready for it. Be sure to make a good 
job of that Christmas tree! Good-bye/’ and he 
opened the door and strode out into the night. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

A NIGHT OF DANGER 

But the storm was not to be dismissed so lightly 
as Allan had dismissed it. Among the houses of 
the town he was sheltered somewhat, but, as he 
strode on westward, out into the open country, it 
seemed to rage with redoubled violence. The wind 
swept across the embankment along the river with 
a fury which threatened to blow him away. He 
bent low before it, and, swinging his lantern from 
right to left in unison with his steps, fought his 
way slowly onward, his eyes on the track. Away 
down at his right he could hear the river raging, 
and from instant to instant the lightning disclosed 
to him glimpses of the storm-tossed water. Once 
he saw a ball of fire roll down the track far ahead 
and finally leap oflf, shattering into a thousand frag- 
ments. 


238 


A NIGHT OF DANGER 239 


The thunder crashed incessantly, and overhead he 
could see great black clouds rolling across the sky. 
The rain fell in torrents, and, driven before the 
wind, dashed into his face with a violence which 
stung and blinded him whenever he raised his head. 
From time to time, he was forced to face about, his 
back to the wind, and gasp for breath. Once a 
gust of extra violence drove him to his knees, but 
he struggled up again and on. He knew that he 
was not the only one who was facing the tempest; 
he knew that up and down two hundred miles of 
track others were fighting the same fight. They had 
left warm homes, just as he had done, where prep- 
arations for Christmas were going on; they had 
not held back from the call of duty, nor would he. 

He shut his teeth tight together and staggered 
on. A vision flashed before him of the bright room 
he had just left; he could see Jack sitting in his 
chair, and Mary putting the last touches to the 
Christmas tree. He knew that they were talking 
of him, planning for him, and a sudden wave of 
tenderness swept over him at the thought of how 
these people had taken him into their hearts and 


240 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


given him another home in place of the one he had 
lost. The new one, of course, could never quite 
take the place of the old one; and yet he was no 
longer the friendless, hungry, lonely boy who had 
approached Jack Welsh so timidly that morning 
and asked for work. He had friends to whom 
he could look for sympathy and encouragement; 
there were hearts which loved him ; he had a place 
in the world and was doing useful work; and he 
hoped in time to prove himself worthy of a higher 
place and competent to fill it. To-morrow would 
be a happy Christmas! 

So, as he fought his way on, it was with no 
despondent heart, but with a bright and hopeful one, 
that cared nothing for the discomfort of the storm. 
He was happy and at peace within, and no mere 
external tempest could disturb him! 

A little grove on either side the track, its trees 
roaring in the tempest, gave him a moment’s shel- 
ter. Then he pushed on to the two iron bridges 
which spanned the canal and the highroad just be- 
yond it. These he looked over carefully by the 
light of his lantern, and assured himself that they 


A NIGHT OF DANGER 241 


were all right. Beyond the bridges was the long 
grade which led to the deep cut through the spur 
of hill which stretched across the track, and here 
the wind was howling with a fury that threatened 
to sweep him off his feet. But he fought his way 
on doggedly, step by step, head lowered, eyes on 
the track, lantern swinging from side to side. 

Then suddenly the wind ceased, though he could 
still hear it roaring far overhead, and he looked 
up to see that he had gained the cover of the cut. 
He stopped for breath, rejoicing that the hardest 
part of his task was over. Beyond the cut was a 
sharp curve, the road was carried on a high trestle 
over a deep ravine, and then onward along the top 
of an embankment, — a “ fill,” in railroad parlance, 
— and this embankment marked the western limit 
of his trick. On his journey home, he would have 
the wind at his back and could get along easily and 
rapidly. 

Cheered by this thought, he walked on through 
the cut, but, as he turned the corner at the farther 
side, the wind struck him again with terrific force. 
He staggered back for an instant against the rock, 


242 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


when there came a great flash of lightning that sil- 
houetted before him every feature of the landscape. 
Yet, as the lightning died, there remained photo- 
graphed on his brain only one detail of the picture, 
— before him stretched the trestle, and in the middle 
of it four men were working with feverish energy 
tearing up a rail ! 

He leaned back against the rock, dazed at the 
sight, not understanding for a moment what it 
meant. Then in a flash its meaning dawned upon 
him — they were preparing to wreck a train. But 
what train ? It must be nearly eleven o’clock — 
no train was due for an hour or more — yes, there 
was — the pay-car, hurrying from Cincinnati with 
the Christmas money for the men. It was the pay- 
car they were after. But the pay-car was always 
crowded with armed men — men armed not merely 
with revolvers, but with Winchester repeaters. Yet, 
let the car crash over that trestle fifty feet upon the 
rocks below, and how many of its occupants would 
be living to defend themselves? 

Allan sank back among the rocks trembling, 
realizing that in some way he must save the train. 


A NIGHT OF DANGER 243 


His first act whs to open his lantern and extinguish 
it, lest it betray him. Then he tried quickly to think 
out a plan of action. He must get across the trestle 
in order to flag the train — but how could he get 
across it? And of a sudden his heart stood still 
as two vague forms loomed up before him. They 
stopped for a moment in the shelter of the wall. 

“ It was just about here,” said a rough voice 
he seemed to recognize. “ I caught a glint of a 
red light an’ then it went out. I was watchin’ fer 
the track-walker, y’ know, an’ I was sure that was 
him.” 

“ Flash o’ lightnin’, most likely,” came in a hoarse 
undertone from another. 

Allan heard the newcomers grope about, as he 
cowered close to the rock, his heart beating fiercely 
as he expected each moment to feel a hand upon 
him. 

“ Y’ see they ain’t nobody here,” said the first 
speaker, at last. 

“ Yes,” assented the other, uncertainly. “ But 
he’s about due, if he’s cornin’.” 


244 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


“ I dunno,” protested the other. “ Y’d better 
not bank on that.’" 

“ I ain’t a-bankin’ on it ! ” retorted his compan- 
ion, impatiently. “ You’re goin’ t’ keep a lookout, 
ain’t you? Now I’ll go on back an’ you stay right 
here. You kin see a long stretch down th’ track 
from here, so they can’t surprise us. If they’s 
more’n one, warn us, — maybe they’ve put on a 
double guard t’-night, — but, if they’s only one, 
wait here behind this rock, an’ when he comes past, 
do fer him — ’specially if it’s Welsh ’r th’ kid. It’s 
about time we was gittin’ even ! ” 

Allan’s heart leaped. He knew the voice now 
— there was no mistaking — it was Nolan’s! 

Nolan started back toward the trestle through 
the storm and was lost to sight instantly, while the 
sentry sat down upon a rock to watch the track, 
whistling to himself, as though train-wrecking were 
the most ordinary thing in the world. But Allan 
was thinking only of one thing — he must get past 
that man on the rock, he must cross the ravine, he 
must flag the train. 

That was his duty lying clear before him. Dan- 


A NIGHT OF DANGER 245 


ger? Yes, — but which of his comrades would 
stop to think of that? Yet he must be careful, — 
not for his own sake, but for the sake of those who 
were speeding toward this peril. He must run no 
risk of failure, for their lives depended upon him — 
upon his coolness, his foresight, his quickness. And 
whatever he did must be done at once. He gripped 
his hands together to still their trembling. Come, 
— this was no time for weakness. He must prove 
himself a man ! He must prove himself worthy the 
service of the road! 

He could not climb the well-nigh perpendicular 
side of the cut; to go back and work his way over 
the hill would require too much time — and there 
was not a moment to be lost. The only thing to 
do, then, was to go forward. He drew a deep 
breath; then he tucked his lantern snugly under 
his left arm, grasped his club firmly, and moved 
forward cautiously, hugging the side of the cut, 
his eyes on the sentry. 

Once he stumbled heavily over some obstruction, 
but the storm covered the noise, and the sentry 
made no sign that he had heard, but sat twirling a 


246 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


heavy stick and looking down the track. Hope 
began to revive in the boy’s breast; perhaps he 
might be able to steal past unseen. Lower and 
lower he crouched ; slow and more slowly he 
moved ; he was almost past — almost past — 

Then, of a sudden, a broad flash of lightning- 
flared down into the cut and revealed them to each 
other. 

“ Reddy ! ” cried the boy. “ Reddy ! ” 

The sentry sprang toward him with uplifted club, 
his face distorted with rage. 

“ Don’t you know me, Reddy? ” cried Allan, 
springing back to avoid the blow/. 

“ Sure Oi knows y’ ! ” shouted the madman, sav- 
agely, coming on. “ An’ Oi’m a-goin’ t’ do fer y’, 
like Dan told me to. He told me y’re all in th’ 
plot ag’in me ! ” 

“ It’s a lie, Reddy!” protested Allan, violently. 
“It’s a lie!” 

Reddy paused for an instant. 

“A loi, is it?” he repeated. “Wasn’t it you as 
told on me fer breakin’ that link motion ? ” 

“ Yes,” admitted the boy ; “ but — ” 



“HE STEPPED TO ONE SIDE, AND . . . BROUGHT DOWN 
HIS CLUB UPON THE OTHER’S HEAD ” 





A NIGHT OF DANGER 247 


Reddy waited to hear no more. 

“ Oi knowed it!” he yelled. “ Oi knowed it! 
OiTl show you! Oi’ll show you, y’ dirty spy! 
Don’t try t’ run — it’s no use ! ” 

And he came charging down upon Allan, his 
club swinging savagely. 

But Allan was thinking not in the least of run- 
ning. Instead, he stood his ground, his teeth 
clenched, his eyes alert, his club ready. He was 
not in the least excited; now, indeed, he found 
an instant in which to wonder at his calmness. 
Then Reddy was upon him and struck at him sav- 
agely. He stepped to one side, and, putting all 
his force into the blow, — oh, how he hated to do 
it ! — brought down his club upon the other’s head. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE SIGNAL IN THE NIGHT 

That blow had all the weight of Allan’s mus- 
cular young body behind it, for he had realized 
that this was no moment to hold his hand, however 
he might wish to do so, and Reddy tumbled in a 
limp heap upon the track. 

The tears were gushing from the boy’s eyes as 
he bent over the body and drew it to one side to 
the shelter of the rock. That he should have struck 
Reddy — perhaps even killed him! But he could 
not linger ; with a last glance at the prostrate figure, 
he turned back to the task before him. 

Plainly he could not hope to cross the trestle 
with half a dozen men working on it — to try to 
do so would mean certain failure. Yet he must 
cross the ravine, — there was only one other way, 
and that not an easy one. 

248 


SIGNAL IN THE NIGHT 249 


He threw off Jack’s waterproof, which would 
only impede him now that he needed the utmost 
freedom of movement, and, holding his lantern 
tight, he jumped from the track and half-scrambled, 
half-fell down the steep descent below him, disre- 
garding mud and brambles, torn clothes, and 
bruises, thinking only of one thing — that he must 
reach the other side and save the train. In a mo- 
ment he was at the bottom, bruised and breathless, 
but luckily with no bones broken. Then for an 
instant he paused. Through the bottom of the 
ravine ran a stream, usually a gentle, shallow brook, 
but now swollen to an angry torrent by the pour- 
ing rain. There was no time for hesitation — no 
time to seek a better place — indeed, that was im- 
possible in the darkness — and, holding his lantern 
high above his head, the boy dashed into the water. 

For a moment it seemed that he must be swept 
away, so fierce was the rush of the torrent; but 
he got his feet, braced himself against it, and inch 
by inch fought his way across. The water tore 
at him and raged around him, hissing and sputter- 
ing, determined that he should not escape. Well 


250 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 

for him that he had had those months of work 
on section, which had strengthened muscle and 
steadied nerve — which had taught him how to 
fight! 

So, at last, he won through to the farther bank, 
breathless, exhausted, triumphant. And here a 
new difficulty met him. He had shut himself into 
a trap from which there seemed no escaping. 
Again and again he tried to climb the steep side 
of the ravine, but as many times slipped down to 
the bottom, bringing with him an avalanche of 
earth and loose stones. 

Dry sobs rose in his throat and choked him 
as he lay for a moment against the bank, weak 
and trembling. Was he to be defeated here, with 
the end almost in sight ? Was he to fail, after all ? 
Must he stay here to witness the train take that 
awful plunge from the trestle down into the tor- 
rent beneath ? He looked up with a shudder. High 
above him, he could see the trestle dimly outlined 
against the sky, and he knew that the work of tear- 
ing up the rail must be almost done. 

He shook the weakness from him — he must be 


SIGNAL IN THE NIGHT 251 


a man ! — and he shut his eyes as he tried to picture 
to himself how the place looked by daylight. He 
had crossed the trestle a hundred times and gazed 
down into the ravine, admiring its rugged beauty. 
For centuries that little stream, which started in 
a spring high up on the hillside, had been labour- 
ing patiently digging this channel for itself, eating 
its way through earth and rock and slate, fashioning 
for itself a little narrow valley, just as the great 
streams make for themselves broad and fertile ones. 
It had eaten its way down and down, leaving on 
either side, extending to a height of nearly a hun- 
dred feet, rocky and precipitous banks. Allan re- 
membered how in summer those banks were clothed 
in green; how he had looked down at them from 
the trestle. One day he had descried a brilliant 
patch of wild flowers near the bottom, where they 
had grown and spread, safe from man’s intrusion. 
He had never thought how much would one day 
depend upon his knowledge of the place, or he would 
have examined the banks more closely. 

Something swished through the air above him, 
and fell with a mighty splash into the torrent — 


252 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 

it was the rail — it had been torn loose — the 
wreckers’ work was done. Now, they had only 
to wait until the train came dashing past ! Perhaps 
even at this moment it was nearing the destruction 
which threatened it! The boy shuddered at the 
thought, and made another vain and desperate ef- 
fort to scramble up the bank. This time he man- 
aged to get hold of a little bush high above his 
head, but, as he was pulling himself up, the bush 
gave way and he fell again to the bottom. He 
realized that he could never hope to climb that 
treacherous bank, that he must follow the ravine 
until it grew wider and shallower. Yet how could 
he do that and still be in time to save the train? 
There must be some way out near at hand! The 
robbers must have provided some path by which 
to get down to the wrecked train and get up again 
with their booty. But no doubt the path, if there 
was one, was on the other side of the ravine, where 
it would be of no use to him ; very probably there 
was no path at all. The robbers had merely to let 
down a rope to provide a means of entrance and 
exit. He would have to go around, and he started 


SIGNAL IN THE NIGHT 253 


blindly forward down the stream, holding his lan- 
tern tight, trembling to think of the precious mo- 
ments he had wasted, — of the ones that he must 
yet waste before he could gain the track above and 
warn the engineer of the peril which lay before 
him. It was a desperate chance, but it seemed the 
only one. 

He groped his way stumblingly along, walking 
in the edge of the water, making such progress 
as he could; slipping, falling full length once or 
twice, but rising again and pressing forward. His 
teeth were chattering, for the icy water had chilled 
him to the bone, but he seemed not to be conscious 
of the cold ; his hands and face were cut and bleed- 
ing, scratched by brambles and by the sharp edges 
of rocks and slate, but he did not feel the sting 
of the wounds. He was thinking only of one thing 
— he must get out of this trap — he must flag the 
train! There must be some way out! He could 
not fail now! 

Then, suddenly, he remembered. Just below the 
trestle, a little stream, rushing down the hillside to 
join the torrent below!, had cut for itself a minia- 


254 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


ture ravine in the side of the larger one. He had 
noticed it one day not long before — had noticed 
its rocky bed, which rose steeply to the fields above, 
but not so steeply as the sides of the ravine itself. 
Here was a way up which he might escape, if he 
could only find it. It must be somewhere near, — 
and he groped his way along, faltering, stumbling, 
— and at last he found the cut. 

Yet it was not so easy of ascent as he had thought 
it would be; for the water was rushing headlong 
down it, threatening to sweep him back at every 
moment. Still he clambered on, digging knees and 
elbows into the mud, holding with desperate 
strength to the bushes that grew by the way, using 
every rock for foothold, up and up, until, at last, 
wet to the skin, with clothing torn and body cut, 
covered with mud, bruised and aching, but glowing 
with triumphant excitement, he reached the top. 

He knew the railroad was somewhere to the right, 
and he stumbled forward as fast as his trembling 
legs would carry him. More than once he tripped 
and fell heavily over a log or stone, but always he 
held tight his precious lantern, not minding his own 


SIGNAL IN THE NIGHT 255 


bruises so that it was safe. And at last, with a 
great joy at his heart, he saw, stretching dimly 
ahead of him, the high embankment upon which 
rested the track. 

He sat down for a moment to take breath, then 
reached into his trousers pocket and drew out his 
match-safe. It was a company safe, and water- 
proof, for often the fate of a train depended on 
whether a watchman’s matches were wet or dry, 
and for this, at least, the company had the fore- 
sight to provide. Crouching in the shelter of the 
embankment, he found a little rock, and, holding it 
under his coat, struck a match against it. A gust 
of wind caught it instantly and blew it out. With 
trembling fingers, he struck another match, which 
sputtered feebly for a second, flared up and was 
extinguished; but the third match burned for a 
moment, and he applied it quickly to the wick of 
the lantern. How the red glare warmed and 
cheered him as he snapped the globe back into place ! 
He was in time to save the train! 

Then he sprang to his feet. For away down the 
track before him came the sudden glare of a head- 


256 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


light, as the engine swung around a curve, and the 
hum of the wheels told that the engineer was speed- 
ing through the night, with throttle wide open, 
anxious, no doubt, to get safely into the haven of 
the yards at Wadsworth. 

Up the bank scrambled the boy and down the 
track he ran, as fast as his feet would carry him, 
swinging his lantern in great circles over his head. 
He knew that the engineer must see it; he knew 
that on such a night as this his eyes would be 
turned not an instant from the track. 

Then, suddenly, from behind him, there came 
the sharp crack of a revolver, and his lantern was 
smashed to pieces in his hand. He wheeled to see 
a flash of flame, as the revolver spoke again; the 
world reeled before him, turned black, and a great 
blow seemed to strike him in the chest and bear 
him down. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


REDDY REDIVIVUS 

Bill Johnson, engineer of the 187, pulling the 
pay-car, stared out into the night, his hand on the 
throttle. The long gleam of the headlight shot 
out through the driving rain, and he could see the 
wet rails gleaming far ahead. He was making a 
record run ; the superintendent had given him some 
hint of his fear for the safety of the pay-car, and 
he heaved a sigh of relief as the train swung around 
a curve and hurtled down the fill on the straight- 
away course for Wadsworth. Once in the yards 
there, the pay-car would be safe. 

Then, with a quick gasp, he closed the throttle, 
reversed the engine, and threw on the brakes, for, 
far down the track ahead of him he had caught the 
gleam of a red lantern waved twice in the air. The 
light had vanished mysteriously in full flight, but 
257 


258 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


a single glimpse of it was warning enough for 
Johnson. 

The moment the brakes were applied, the detec- 
tives, back in the pay-car, had grabbed down the 
Winchesters from the wall and made ready for a 
fight. It might be that the engineer had sighted 
an obstruction on the track, and they waited in- 
stant by instant to feel the car leave the rails. It 
stopped with a jerk, and the detectives piled out, 
ready for anything. 

“What’s the matter?” they asked, coming to 
the spot where Johnson was leaning out of his cab 
window. 

“ Somebody flagged me a minute ago,” answered 
Johnson, still peering out through the night. “ It’s 
funny he don’t come ahead an’ tell us what’s th’ 
trouble.” 

“ Maybe it’s a trick to get us away from the 
car,” said somebody, and the detectives faced about 
in the darkness, instinctively bracing themselves to 
receive a volley of bullets. 

“ Climb up here in th’ cab,” suggested Johnson, 


REDDY REDIVIVUS 


259 


“ an’ I’ll go ahead slow, an’ find out what’s th' 
matter.” 

They climbed up instantly, and the engine crept 
slowly ahead, while they all peered out through the 
dashing rain, expecting they knew not what. 

“ There’s somethin’ on th’ track,” cried Johnson, 
after a moment, his trained eyes catching the first 
glimpse of a dim obstruction. “ It’s a man ! ” he 
said. “ It’s th’ track-walker. Somebody done fer 
him jest as he was signallin’ me! That’s why his 
lantern went out ! ” 

The men ran forward, Mr. Schofield among them. 
In the white glare of the headlight, they could see 
a form stretched heavily across the track, lying on 
its face. 

One of the men turned it over. 

“ My God! It’s young West! ” cried Mr. Scho- 
field, and dropped on his knee beside him. 

“ And shot through the breast,” added one of 
the detectives, indicating the growing blood-stain 
upon the boy’s shirt. 

They carried him tenderly back to the pay-car 
and laid him on a cot there. His right hand still 


260 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


grasped the handle of his shattered lantern, hold- 
ing it so tightly that they could not remove it. Mr. 
Schofield himself did what he could to stop the 
flow of blood; then went forward cautiously to in- 
vestigate. In the centre of the trestle, they found 
that a rail had been tom from the track. 

“ There’s where we’d have been by this time but 
for that boy,” said Mr. Schofield, in a low voice, 
and motioned toward the abyss, his face set and 
livid. “ How he got past the wreckers I can’t 
imagine. Now I want you men to run down the 
fiends who did this. We’ve got to have them, no 
matter what it costs ! Now get after them ! I’ll get 
this rail back — don’t bother about that — and take 
the pay-car in. You fellows catch these scoun- 
drels!” 

The detectives hurried away into the night, while 
Mr. Schofield called the train-crew, got out an extra 
rail which was always kept by the side of the bridge, 
and soon had it spiked into place. 

“ Now go ahead, Johnson,” he called to the engi- 
neer, “ but you’d better run slow — maybe there’s 
another rail loose somewhere,” and he swung him- 


REDDY REDIVIYUS 


261 


self up the steps of the pay-car and sat down by 
Allan’s cot, with a very grim face. 

But let Johnson, the engineer, tell the rest of the 
story, as he told it to a group of interested auditors 
the very next day in the roundhouse office. 

“ I tell you, I run over that trestle mighty cau- 
tious-like,” he said, “ an’ it give me a turn when 
I looked down into that ditch an’ thought of what 
would have happened if th’ boy hadn’t flagged us. 
But we got across all right, an’ started through th’ 
cut, still runnin’ slow, fer I didn’t know but what 
there might be a rock on the track, when I heard 
somebody hollerin’ at me, an’ in a minute up comes 
Reddy Magraw climbin’ into th’ cab, lookin’ crazier 
’n ever. 

“ ‘ How did I git out here ? ’ he asked, wild-like. 
4 Who fetched me out here ? What ’m I doin’ ’way 
out here ? ’ 

“ ‘ If you don’t know, I don’t,’ says I. ‘ Set 
down there an’ rest. What’s th’ matter with your 
head ? ’ I asked, fer I saw it was all bloody on one 
side. 

“ Reddy put his hand up and felt of his head ; 


262 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


then he took his hand down an’ looked at the blood 
on it. 

“ ‘ I dunno,’ he says. ‘ Mebbe th’ engine hit me. 
Where’s Welsh an’ the rest o’ th’ gang? They 
oughtn’t to have gone off an’ left me layin’ out 
here like this, — I didn’t think they’d do that ! ’ 

“ ‘ What engine hit you? ’ I asked. 

“ ‘ Why, th’ engine o’ Number Four,’ he says. * I 
didn’t have time t’ git out of th’ road after I threw 
th’ switch. But I didn’t think th’ boys’d ’a’ left 
me layin’ out here like this. Why, I might ’a’ 
died!’ 

“ Well, sir, it come to me all in a minute that 
somehow Reddy Magraw had got his senses back, 
an’ I tell you it set me a-tremblin’ jest like th’ time 
my wife had her first baby. I was purty nigh 
scared to death! 

“ ‘ I guess th’ engine must ’a’ hit you, sure,’ I 
says, to ease him up. Then, as th’ track was clear, 
I opened up my engine, while Magraw set on the 
floor of th’ cab in a dazed sort of way. Never a 
word did he say till we pulled into the yards. 


REDDY REDIVIVUS 


263 


“ * You’d better see a doctor,’ I says. But he 
jumped off th’ engine th’ minute we stopped. 

“ ‘ I don’t want no doctor,’ he says. * I’m goin’ 
home.’ An’ he started off on a run. 

“ Well, you orter seen Mr. Schofield when I 
told him. He went along with th’ boy, an’ seen 
him fixed up, an’ then hurried away with th’ doctor 
t’ see Reddy. An’ he found him at home with his 
wife on one knee an’ his children on th’ other, — 
he told us when he got back.” 

Johnson stopped, took out his handkerchief, and 
mopped his eyes openly. 

“ I don’t keer,” he said, looking around defiantly. 
“ It’s enough t’ make any man’s eyes wet t’ think 
of what that family’s been through, an’ now Reddy’s 
give back to ’em ag’in with a head’s good as 
anybody’s. Why, it beats anything I ever heard 
of!” 

And, indeed, it was a nine-days’ wonder to every 
one. The doctors came and looked at him and 
explained what had happened in many learned 
words, and one of them wrote a paper about it, 
which he read before a medical society; the news- 


264 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


papers heard of it and wrote it up, and published 
Reddy’s photograph, — why, Mrs. Magraw has 
all those papers put carefully away, and she gets 
them out occasionally even yet, and reads them 
and cries over them, — but they are tears of happi- 
ness and thanksgiving. For Reddy was as well as 
ever, and the gist of all the learned medical opinions 
was that the blow on the head which Allan dealt 
him had somehow set right the brain disordered 
by the blow it had received from the engine months 
before. It did for him just what an operation might 
have done, and did it effectually. How it had done 
it, the doctors couldn’t say, and there were many 
warm discussions over it. It was not without 
precedent, — not unfrequently a case of the same 
kind is reported, — but the righting of that delicate 
mechanism, the brain, is something that no physi- 
cian, be he never so famous, as yet thoroughly 
understands. 

The one fact remained that Reddy was himself 
again, and freed for ever from the influence of 
Dan Nolan. And, indeed, Nolan himself was des- 
tined to pay the penalty for his iniquities. For 


REDDY REDIVIVUS 


265 


the detectives soon found the trail of him and his 
companions; the help of the Wadsworth police 
force was secured, a bloodhound was brought to 
the scene, and all that night the pursuit was kept 
up among the hills. When morning dawned, the 
quarry was run to cover in an old log hut near 
the top of Mount Logan, and the detectives and 
police surrounded it. 

The robbers put up a short fight, but they saw 
they had no chance to escape, and the bullets from 
the Winchesters were whistling through the cabin 
in a most unnerving w'ay, so they waved a white 
rag out of one of the windows and surrendered. 
There were four in the party, Nolan and three 
tramps whom nobody knew. They were taken back 
to Wadsworth and lodged safely in jail there, leav- 
ing it only to go to the State penitentiary at Colum- 
bus to serve a term of years. Nolan broke down at 
the last, like the great coward he really was, con- 
fessed, plead guilty, and turned State’s evidence 
against his comrades in order to save himself a 
year or two of imprisonment. So that was the end 


266 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


of Nolan for a time; but his power for mischief 
was not yet at an end, and he later involved some 
of his old associates in new disasters — but that 
story cannot be told here. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE ROAD’S GRATITUDE 

It was only a memory now, that gray, wet Christ- 
mas morning when Allan had been brought home 
pale and limp, on a stretcher. They had started 
from bed at the first tap on the door, for his pro- 
longed absence had begun to worry them, and Jack, 
unheeding his sprained ankle, had hobbled to it and 
flung it open. He stood silent as they brought the 
boy in and set the stretcher on the floor. He 
watched the doctor strip back his clothing, remove 
the rude bandage that had been hastily placed over 
the wound, wipe away the blood, and begin to probe 
for the bullet. Mary, too, had thrown on her gown 
and stood watching the operation with white face. 

“ Doctor,” burst out Jack, at last, almost fiercely, 
“ don’t tell me he’s dead ! Don’t tell me he’s goin’ 
26 7 


268 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


t’ die! He saved my little girl. Don’t tell me I 
let him go t’ his death ! ” 

“ He’ll not die,” said the doctor, reassuringly. 
“ The bullet seems to have been deflected from its 
course and to have made only a bad flesh wound.” 

But it turned the watchers sick to see the probe 
sink in deeper and deeper. Suddenly the surgeon 
gave a little exclamation and ran his hand under 
the boy’s shoulder. 

“ Here,” he said to his assistant, “ turn him 
over.” 

He made a quick cut with a knife under the 
shoulder-blade, and a little flattened piece of lead 
fell into his hand. 

“ There’s the bullet,” and he handed it to Welsh. 
“ Maybe he’ll want it for a keepsake.” And he pro- 
ceeded skilfully to bandage up the wound. 

But it was not until Allan opened his eyes and 
smiled faintly up at them that Jack and Mary be- 
lieved that he could live. They fell on their knees 
beside his bed, but the doctor hurried them away. 

“ What he needs now is sleep,” he said. “ Let 
him sleep as long as he can.” 


THE ROAD S GRATITUDE 269 


“ But look at his poor face, doctor,” whispered 
Mary, “an’ at his hands, all tore and scratched. 
Do ye suppose them devils did that to him, too ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said the doctor. “ Those 
scratches won’t hurt him; it’s that wound in the 
breast that’s dangerous. Now, let him sleep.” 

And sleep he did, all through that Christmas 
Day. The story of his exploit had got about, and 
a constant stream of railroad men came softly up 
the path to ask how he was doing, and to stand 
around afterward and discuss the story. All night 
he slept, with Mary watching by his bedside, and, 
when he opened his eyes next morning, she was 
still sitting there. 

The doctor came an hour later, looked at the 
wound, felt his pulse, and nodded encouragingly. 

“ He’ll pull through all right,” he said. “ He’s 
got a little fever, but that was to be expected. But 
he’s in first-class shape and will soon rally from 
that wound. Keep him quiet for a day or two.” 

Before that time, the fever had subsided, the 
wound was healing nicely, and the doctor pro- 
nounced his patient out of danger. 


270 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


“ He’s pretty weak,” he said, “ and must take 
things easy. Don’t let him strain himself any way, 
or He may open the wound. Keep him quiet and 
cheerful — his youth will do the rest.” 

How they vied with one another to nurse Allan 
back to strength again. Reddy, his old self, was 
the first caller, with his heart going out to the boy 
with a love that was well-nigh worship. 

“ I don’t know nothin’ ’bout how it happened, 
Allan,” he said, wringing the hand of the white- 
faced boy, “ but I think I can count on y’ not to 
be lay in’ it up ag’in me.” 

Allan leaned back and laughed. 

“ I think if you can cry quits, I can,” he said. 
How the great load rolled from off his heart as 
he saw Reddy, whom he had last beheld lying 
prone at his feet, now his genial old self again! 

“ But, oh, Reddy, I did hate to hit you ! ” 

“ Ho, ho! ” cried Reddy; “ if it had kilt me in- 
tirely, Oi’d ’a’ been th’ last to complain ! Is it true, 
Allan, that I was runnin’ around with tramps ? ” 
“ Yes, that’s true, Reddy.” 

“ An’ hobnobbin’ with Dan Nolan?” 


THE ROAD’S GRATITUDE 271 


“ Yes.” 

“ An’ abusin’ my missus ? ” 

“ You didn’t abuse her, Reddy.” 

“ An’ fightin’ my best friends, an’ wreckin’ rail- 
road property, an’ actin’ generally loike a low-down 
haythen?” went on Reddy, rapidly. “Why, th’ 
only thing I can’t forgive y’ fer, Allan, is thet y’ 
didn’t knock me over th’ head long afore ! ” 

“ I would, Reddy,” laughed Allan, “ if I’d 
thought it would cure you.” 

“ If it hadn’t cured me,” said Reddy, “ it might 
’a’ kilt me — an’ thet was what I deserved ! ” 

Joy is the best of all medicines, and Allan’s im- 
provement was rapid. At the end of a week he 
could spend hours lying back in a padded chair, and 
Jack was finally prevailed upon to go regularly 
to work and leave the care of the invalid to his 
wife. 

It was on the platform before the station that 
the superintendent stopped him one evening, as he 
was hurrying home from work. 

“ How are things out on the line?” he asked. 

“All right, sir.” 


272 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


“ Going to win the track prize again this 
spring ? ” 

“ No, sir,” and Jack grew suddenly grave. “ One 
of my best men is laid up, y’ know.” 

“ Ah, yes,” and the superintendent nodded. 
“ How is the boy getting along, Jack?” 

“ He’ll pull through,” said the other, slowly, 
“ but he had a mighty close call. If th’ bullet hadn’t 
struck a rib an’ glanced off, he’d ’a’ been done fer. 
I went down t’ look at th’ place he got acrost th’ 
ravine, an’ I don’t see how he done it.” 

“ Neither do I,” agreed the superintendent. “ I 
took a look at it, too.” 

“ Well,” continued Jack, “ th’ fever’s over now, 
an’ he’s gittin’ his strength back.” 

“ And his appetite, too, I dare say.” 

“ Yes,” assented Jack, with a quick smile of en- 
joyment, “ an’ his appetite, too. Why, it does us 
more good t’ see him eat than to eat ourselves.” 

“ I don’t doubt it ; but you mustn’t spoil the boy 
with too much coddling.” 

“ Spoil him!” retorted Jack. “ Not fer a min- 


THE ROAD S GRATITUDE 273 


ute! Why, y’ couldn’t spoil him, sir. He’s pure 
gold, all th’ way through.” 

The superintendent started on, stopped for an 
instant to chew his moustache, then turned back. 

“Jack!” he called. 

“ Yes, sir,^’ and the foreman stopped. 

“ You were saying,” began the superintendent, 
a little awkwardly, “ that the boy’s eating again. 
He ought to have some dainties, Welsh; oysters 
and chicken and fruit, and that sort of thing.” 

“ We hope t’ be able t’ git ’em fer him, sir,” 
answered Jack, with dignity. 

“ Well, the road won’t let you get them,” said 
the superintendent. “ We owe him a good deal, 
and we’re going to pay some of it this way. I’m 
going to stop in over here at the store and tell 
Fisher to send the boy whatever he wants and send 
the bill in to the road. I’ll see that it’s paid. Of 
course, we’ll take care of the doctor and drug bills, 
too. Now, maybe he’d like some oranges or pine- 
apple or something of that sort right away. Any- 
way, I’ll tell Fisher,” and he hurried on, as though 
fearing to hear what the other might say. 


274 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


Welsh looked after him for a moment without 
saying anything, then turned toward home. 

And Mr. Heywood, hurrying on, stopped at the 
grocery and gave certain directions. 

“ And see here, Fisher,” he concluded, “ you’ll 
send the bill to me, but that’s nobody’s business but 
our own. I want them to think that the road’s pay- 
ing for it.” 

Half an hour later, a grocer’s boy knocked at the 
door of the Welsh cottage and handed in a great 
basket of dainties, and Allan was soon smiling over 
a bowl of steaming oyster soup, with Jack and 
his wife and Mamie grouped about the bed watch- 
ing him enjoy it. And I don’t believe there is any 
more exquisite pleasure in the world than that which 
they experienced in that moment! 

The winter days were clear and bright, and Allan 
found a rare enjoyment in lying back in the great 
chair which Mrs. Welsh had padded expressly for 
him, and looking out over the yards and watching 
the busy life there. He was sitting so one after- 
noon when some one turned in at the gate and 
mounted the path to the house. 


THE ROAD’S GRATITUDE 275 


“ Why, it’s Misther Schofield ! ” cried Mary, and 
hastily dusted off a chair with her apron, in honour 
of the distinguished visitor, — not that it needed 
dusting. 

The train-master came up with smiling face. 

“ How are you, Mrs. Welsh? ” he asked. “ And 
how is the invalid ? ” 

He sat down by the side of the chair, and, reach- 
ing over, gave Allan's hand a hearty clasp. 

“ Do you know, I am ashamed of myself for not 
getting here before this,” he went on, genially, 
“ but I have kept posted about you, because I wanted 
to know when you were ready to go back to work.” 

“ I’ll be ready before long, sir,” said Allan, smil- 
ing in sympathy with his guest’s good humour. 
“ I’m getting quite strong again.” 

But Mrs. Welsh interrupted him. 

“ Listen at th’ boy ! ” she cried, indignantly. 
“ Why, Misther Schofield, an’ him with a bullet- 
hole clear through him t’ think o’ goin’ out an’ 
workin’ on section ! ” 

The train-master was smiling more broadly than 


ever. 


276 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 

“ It does seem pretty tough, doesn’t it ? ” he said. 
“ Here’s a boy who’s saved the company’s pay-car 
with two hundred thousand dollars in it, and the 
lives of ten or fifteen men, and came within a hair’s 
breadth of getting killed. And yet he has to work 
on section for forty dollars a month. But then, 
there’s not so much danger on section any more; 
we’ve routed the tramps, you know, for good and 
all. Still, it’s pretty tough.” 

“ Tough ! ” and Mrs. Welsh looked at him with 
flaming eyes. “ It’s worse ’n that, beggin’ your 
pardon, sir. It’s a sin an’ a shame ! It’s a disgrace 
t’ th’ company ! ” 

Allan tried to silence her, but she would not be 
silenced. He stole a horrified glance at Mr. Scho- 
field, and was astonished to see that he was still 
smiling. 

“ A disgrace!” repeated that official. “Well, I 
agree with you, Mrs. Welsh. So we’re not going 
to let him go back on section. We can’t afford to 
waste a good man that way. It’s a little late for 
a Christmas gift, maybe, but he’s earned it and he’s 
going to get it.” 


THE ROAD S GRATITUDE 277 


Mary stared at the speaker, speechless. 

“ There’s a job open in my office, young man,” 
he went on, turning to Allan. “ It’s yours if you 
want it. It’s not such a very good job, for it pays 
only fifty dollars a month, but you’ll learn more 
about railroading there in a month than you can 
ever do on section, and you’ll be in line for promo- 
tion, and you’ll get promoted when you merit it. 
What do you say ? ” 

What could Allan say, with a heart too full for 
utterance? He reached out his hands blindly, and 
the other, understanding, clasped them in his strong, 
steady ones. 

And that was how it came about that Allan got 
the place in the offices which he had longed for, 
under the eye of the best train-master in the West, 
where, as he had promised, there was more rail- 
roading to be learned in a month than in a lifetime 
of section work. He became a part of the brain 
which ruled and directed the whole wonderful sys- 
tem. He came to know what the instruments tick- 
ing madly away on every table were saying. He 


278 THE YOUNG SECTION -HAND 


proved himself worthy of the trust reposed in him, 
and on two critical occasions, at least, he displayed 
a nerve and quickness of judgment which caused 
the general manager to ask the train-master: 

“ Who is this fellow named West you’ve got 
down there in your office, Schofield? He seems a 
good one.” 

“ He is a good one,” Mr. Schofield had responded, 
earnestly. “ You’ll hear from him again.” 

How the prophecy came true and what adven- 
tures befell Allan in his new position will be told 
in “ The Young Train-despatcher but, whatever 
his successes, I doubt if he ever knew happier days 
than those he spent with Reddy and Jack Welsh on 
Section Twenty-one. 


THE END. 


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tures of that pitiful and charming little runaway. 

“ It is one of those exquisitely simple and truthful books that 
win and charm the reader, and I did not put it down until I 
had finished it — honest I And I am sure that every one, young 
or old, who reads will be proud and happy to make the acquaint- 
ance of the delicious waif. 

“ I cannot think of any better book for children than this. I 
commend it unreservedly.” — Cyrus Townsend Brady. 

The Story of the Graveleys. By mar- 

shall Saunders, author of “ Beautiful Joe’s Paradise,” 
“ ’Tilda Jane,” etc. 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by E. B. 
Barry $1.50 

Here we have the haps and mishaps, the trials and triumphs, 
of a delightful New England family, of whose devotion and 
sturdiness it will do the reader good to hear. From the kindly, 
serene-souled grandmother to the buoyant madcap, Berty, these 
Graveleys are folk of fibre and blood — genuine human beings. 

D — 8 


THE LITTLE COUSIN SERIES 

The most delightful and interesting accounts possible of 
child-life in other lands, filled with quaint sayings, doings, 
and adventures. 

Each i vol., i2mo, decorative cover, cloth, with six full- 
page illustrations in color by L. J. Bridgman. 

Price per volume #0.60 

By MARY HAZELTON WADE 

Our Little African Cousin 
Our Little Armenian Cousin 
Our Little Brown Cousin 
Our Little Cuban Cousin 
Our Little Eskimo Cousin 
Our Little German Cousin 
Our Little Hawaiian Cousin 
Our Little Indian Cousin 
Our Little Irish Cousin 
Our Little Italian Cousin 
Our Little Japanese Cousin 
Our Little Jewish Cousin 
Our Little Mexican Cousin 
Our Little Norwegian Cousin 
Our Little Philippine Cousin 
Our Little Porto Rican Cousin 
Our Little Russian Cousin 
Our Little Siamese Cousin 
Our Little Swiss Cousin 
Our Little Turkish Cousin 

By BLANCHE McMANUS 

Our Little English Cousin 
Our Little French Cousin 

By ELIZABETH ROBERTS MacDONALD 
Our Little Canadian Cousin 
By ISAAC HEADLAND TAYLOR 
Our Little Chinese Cousin 
By H. LEE M. PIKE 
Our Little Korean Cousin 

D — 0 


ANIMAL TALES 

By Charles G. D. Roberts 

ILLUSTRATED BY 

Charles Livingston Bull 

as follows : 

The Lord of the Air 

(The Eagle) 

The King of the Mamozekel 

(The Moose) 

The Watchers of the Camp-fire 

(The Panther) 

The Haunter of the Pine Gloom 

(The Lynx) 

The Return to the Trails 

(The Bear) 

The Little People of the Sycamore 

(The Raccoon) 

Each i vol., small i2mo, cloth decorative, per volume, 

$0.50 

Realizing the great demand for the animal stories of 
Professor Roberts, one of the masters of nature writers, 
the publishers have selected six representative stories, to be 
issued separately, at a popular price. Each story is illus- 
trated by Charles Livingston Bull, and is bound in a hand- 
some decorative cover. 

D — 10 


COSY CORNER SERIES 

It is the intention of the publishers that this series shall 
contain only the very highest and purest literature, — 
stories that shall not only appeal to the children them- 
selves, but be appreciated by all those who feel with 
them in their joys and sorrows. 

The numerous illustrations in each book are by well-known 
artists, and each volume has a separate attractive cover 
design. 

Each, i vol., i6mo, cloth $0.50 

By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON 

\ 

The Little Colonel. (Trade Mark.) 

The scene of this story is laid in Kentucky. Its heroine 
is a small girl, who is known as the Little Colonel, on 
account of her fancied resemblance to an old-school South- 
ern gentleman, whose fine estate and old family are famous 
in the region. This old Colonel proves to be the grand- 
father of the child. 

The Giant Scissors. 

This is the story of Joyce and of her adventures in 
France, — the wonderful house with the gate of The Giant 
Scissors, Jules, her little playmate, Sister Denisa, the cruel 
Brossard, and her dear Aunt Kate. Joyce is a great friend 
of the Little Colonel, and in later volumes shares with her 
the delightful experiences of the “ House Party ” and the 
“ Holidays.” 

Two Little Knights of Kentucky, 

Who Were the Little Colonel’s Neighbors. 

In this volume the Little Colonel returns to us like an old 
friend, but with added grace and charm. She is not, 
however, the central figure of the story, that place being 
taken by the “ two little knights.” 

D— 11 


L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON ( Continued ) 

Cicely and Other Stories for Girls. 

The readers of Mrs. Johnston’s charming juveniles will 
be glad to learn of the issue of this volume for young 
people. 

Aunt ’Liza’s Hero and Other Stories. 

A collection of six bright little stories, which will appeal 
to all boys and most girls. 

Big Brother. 

A story of two boys. The devotion and care of Steven, 
himself a small boy, for his baby brother, is the theme of 
the simple tale. 

Ole Mammy’s Torment. 

“ Ole Mammy’s Torment ” has been fitly called “ a classic 
of Southern life.” It relates the haps and mishaps of a 
small negro lad, and tells how he was led by love and kind- 
ness to a knowledge of the right. 

The Story of Dago. 

In this story Mrs. Johnston relates the story of Dago, a 
pet monkey, owned jointly by two brothers. Dago tells 
his own story, and the account of his haps and mishaps is 
both interesting and amusing. 

The Quilt That Jack Built. 

A pleasant little story of a boy’s labor of love, and how 
, it changed the course of his life many years after it was 
' accomplished. 

Flip’s Islands of Providence. 

A story of a boy’s life battle, his early defeat, and his 
final triumph, well worth the reading. 

d — ia 


COSY CORNER SERIES 


By EDITH ROBINSON 

A Little Puritan’s First Christmas. 

A story of Colonial times in Boston, telling how Christ- 
mas was invented by Betty Sewall, a typical child of the 
Puritans, aided by her brother Sam. 

A Little Daughter of Liberty. 

The author’s motive for this story is well indicated by a 
quotation from her introduction, as follows : 

“ One ride is memorable in the early history of the 
American Revolution, the well-known ride of Paul Revere. 
Equally deserving of commendation is another ride, — the 
ride of Anthony Severn, — which was no less historic in its 
action or memorable in its consequences.” 

A Loyal Little Maid. 

A delightful and interesting story of Revolutionary days, 
in which the child heroine, Betsey Schuyler, renders im- 
portant services to George Washington. 

A Little Puritan Rebel. 

This is an historical tale of a real girl, during the time 
when the gallant Sir Harry Vane was governor of Massa- 
chusetts. 

A Little Puritan Pioneer. 

The scene of this story is laid in the Puritan settlement at 
Charlestown. The little girl heroine adds another to the 
list of favorites so well known to the young people. 

A Little Puritan Bound Girl. 

A story of Boston in Puritan days, which is of great 
interest to youthful readers. 

A Little Puritan Cavalier. 

The story of a “ Little Puritan Cavalier ” who tried with 
all his boyish enthusiasm to emulate the spirit and ideals of 
the dead Crusaders. 

D — 13 


L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


By MISS MULOCK 

The Little Lame Prince. 

A delightful story of a little boy who has many adven- 
tures by means of the magic gifts of his fairy godmother. 


Adventures of a Brownie. 

The story of a household elf who torments the cook and 
gardener, but is a constant joy and delight to the children 
who love and trust him. 

His Little Mother. 

Miss Mulock’s short stories for children are a constant 
source of delight to them, and “ His Little Mother,” in this 
new and attractive dress, will be welcomed by hosts of 
youthful readers. 

Little Sunshine’s Holiday. 

An attractive story of a summer outing. “ Little Sun- 
shine” is another of those beautiful child-characters for 
which Miss Mulock is so justly famous. 


By JULIANA HO RATI A EWING 

Jackanapes. 

A new edition, with new illustrations, of this exquisite 
and touching story, dear alike to young and old. 

Story of a Short Life. 

This beautiful and pathetic story will never grow old. It 
is a part of the world’s literature, and will never die. 

A Great Emergency. 

How a family of children prepared for a great emergency, 
and how they acted when the emergency came. 

D— 14 


COSY CORNER SERIES 


By OUIDA ( Louise de la Ram.ee) 

A Dog Of Flanders : a Christmas Story. 

Too well and favorably known to require description. 

The Nurnberg Stove. 

This beautiful story has never before been published at a 
popular price. 


By FRANCES MARGARET FOX 

The Little Giant’s Neighbours. 

A charming nature story of a “ little giant ” whose neigh- 
bours were the creatures of the field and garden. 

Farmer Brown and the Birds. 

A little story which teaches children that the birds are 
man’s best friends. 

Betty of Old Mackinaw. 

A charming story of child-life, appealing especially to the 
little readers who like stories of “ real people.” 

Mother Nature’s Little Ones. 

Curious little sketches describing the early lifetime, or 
« childhood,” of the little creatures out-of-doors. 

How Christmas Came to the Mul- 
vaneys. 

A bright, lifelike little story of a family of poor children, 
with an unlimited capacity for fun and mischief. The 
wonderful never-to-be-forgotten Christmas that came to 
them is the climax of a series of exciting incidents. 

»— 15 


L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


By WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE 

The Farrier’s Dog and His Fellow. 

This story, written by the gifted young Southern woman, 
will appeal to all that is best in the natures of the many 
admirers of her graceful and piquant style. 


The Fortunes of the Fellow. 

Those who read and enjoyed the pathos and charm of 
“The Farrier’s Dog and His Fellow” will welcome the 
further account of the adventures of Baydaw and the Fel- 
low at the home of the kindly smith. 

The Best of Friends. 

This continues the experiences of the Farrier’s dog and 
his Fellow, written in Miss Dromgoole’s well-known charm- 
ing style. 

Down in Dixie. 

A fascinating story for boys and girls, of a family of Ala- 
bama children who move to Florida and grow up in the 
South. 


By MARIAN W. WILDMAN 

Loyalty Island. 

An account of the adventures of four children and their 
pet dog on an island, and how they cleared their brother 
from the suspicion of dishonesty. 

Theodore and Theodora. 

This is a story of the exploits and mishaps of two mis- 
chievous twins, and continues the adventures of the interest- 
ing group of children in “ Loyalty Island.” 

D— 16 





























































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